Scorpion And Wolf
by NiteMuse
Summary: In the midst of the everyday challenges and feudal wars, we find a story rife with the turmoil of love, a tournament that isn’t wanted by the one who will be the prize, and betrayal.
1. Chapter 1

The sun emerged above the horizon, letting its light gradually spread across the earth below. Dozens of people, hundreds of people, were gathering in the clearing below a stately manor. The light spread to shine upon the colorful tents, owned by the knights who had come to compete. Warmth crept into the muscles of the horses tethered nearby. The morning's glow caught the bright colors of orange and yellow that adorned the lord and lady as they took their seats at the edge of the field. It also reflected off of the coat of arms that was displayed, announcing their proud heritage. Lion and Horse: The House of Icthus.

As the wind wound its way through obstacles, moving and immobile, it listened to the murmur of the crowd. The breeze rolled and played through the tall strands of grass and danced through the nearby fruit trees and their branches. It carried the sounds of knights preparing themselves for presentation before lord and lady. Conversations, tinkling and clamor of armor, nickering and neighing of horses, the wind heard every sound and held it out to any ears that were willing to pay attention.

The hum of the crowd rose and carried, as more and more people gathered at the field. The wind pulled it along where it met with the warmth and light of the sun. The sun had rested its warm gaze upon a set of three riders that were headed towards the field. Just by the sight of them, it was evident that they were not there to compete. They all rode white horses, obviously bred for nothing more than to be impressive when clean. Indeed, the coats gleamed in the light of the sun. Manes and tails, held aloft by the wind, were almost transparent in the light.

The wind swirled around the horses' feet before lifting to the man on the right, and raising any loose material it could find in the colorful, though less extravagant clothing. It swirled around his features. By most standards he was scarcely an attractive man, but that was hardly what had gained him the employment by the nobles.

The sun was warm on his face, but did nothing to lift the haunted look of his brown eyes. The wind pulled his straight brown hair away from his face, causing him to blink. A rough hand came up to tame the strands, before slipping down to brush the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Leaning forward in the saddle, against the protest of the wind, he turned his gaze to the side.

The wind shifted, following that troubled gaze to the man who rode opposite. The breeze twisted and pulled at the brown curls atop his head. It did nothing to improve the tornado-styled mop. Indeed, it only made it worse.

The sun pushed its warmth into his muscles and he sat up a little straighter. Jovial sideburns framed his jaw line, giving way to a face that hadn't been shaven in a few days. He rolled his head, side to side, working out the kinks in his neck. The muscles stretched, leading down to powerful shoulders and arms, where his hands rested near the two-handed mace at his side. Also dressed in the colors of yellow and orange, he was a closer match to the lord and lady. Yet, the colors seemed to highlight the tan of his skin.

Plain brown eyes caught the sunlight. He squinted, though it didn't retract from his lazy grin. After a moment, he turned away from the light, and his eyes rested on the first man. The smile remained, half covered in light, and he gave a nod. The wind swirled again, stirring a shared thought connecting the two. Their focus moved to the woman who rode between them.

The wind shifted and circled the beauty of the woman. She was a vision, and the wind knew it as it caressed her skin. Lifting the loose strands of her hair, it held out the auburn silk, shining in the sun's warm embrace. When the breeze let it fall back against the slender of her body, it brushed the top of the saddle, just past her trim waist.

The sleek material of her dress clung to her body, refusing to be caught by the wind. But the breeze insisted, settling to tug and pull at the golden folds that covered the woman's legs. The sudden updraft caused her to put her hand against her skirts to keep from showing too much. The current of air moved back up her body, following every curve and dip until it reached the smooth skin of her face. Bright green eyes stared straight ahead, paying no more heed to the wind that wanted to hassle.

The wind, thwarted in its desire to bother, died down and gave way to the warmth of the sun. The horses plodded forth, manes and tails dancing with the rhythm of their gait. The soft breathing of the animals accompanied the sound of their footfalls against the earth.

The horses made their way closer to the field of competition, and the men exchanged glances again. They shared a thought. They were the young woman's protectors, one voluntarily, the other hired but devoted. The only thing they couldn't protect her from was a bruised heart. Another thought was shared between the two.

"Aranel?" the man to her right spoke, concern in his voice. The anxiety etched on his face only deepened by the look in his eyes, "What troubles you that you can not enjoy the ride?"

"Valrance," her voice held a bitter edge to it as she turned to look at him, pulling her horse to a sudden and protested halt. The sun reflected in her eyes, revealing a second hue that was similar to honey, "You, of all people, should know why I cannot find pleasure in this morning."

Valrance had to act quickly, turning his horse a full circle to rejoin the young woman. He sat for a long while, letting the silence grow between them. She didn't respond, but her eyes shone a more brilliant green than they had just a moment before. For as many years as he'd spent with her, he knew the signs of her anger when he saw them. They were similar to his own, though his eyes lacked the striking change that hers took on with her moods. He furrowed his brows as thoughts criss-crossed his mind.

The other man watched as Aranel and Valrance stared at each other. Save the fact of nature that they were opposite genders, the similarities were astounding. From how their eyes were set, to the definition of the jaw line, the resemblance was obvious. But something else that was carried strongly, in both of them, was their stubbornness… thanks to their father.

"Please…" he spoke up, his voice soft and cautious, "If we are late to the field, Lord Dagon will not be pleased."

Aranel and Valrance turned to look at him, both of their faces softening almost immediately.

"Thery's right, Aranel," Valrance spoke, he turned his gaze back to his sister, "We do not want to keep him waiting. Not today."

"Agreed," she responded, but her gaze turned down, as if the back of the horse's mane were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

"My lady?" Thery moved closer, stopping his horse just short of rubbing against Aranel's, "What keeps the smile from your face? What has brought your mind such pain?"

Had Thery not been known so well by Aranel and Valrance, his tone might have been confused for that reserved between lovers or sweethearts.

"Tell me… Thery, my friend… Valrance, my brother… What does my father, Lord Dagon…" her father's name was said with disdain, but her voice and eyes held a challenge to the men who rode with her, "Hope to gain from this event? Is the goal to gain hate from his daughter?"

Her words left both men in silence. Neither could answer for a long time. It was Thery who spoke first, "My lady, I can not believe that your father wanted to upset you with this…"

"He could mean nothing else," her eyes were suddenly a bright green, enhanced with her temper, "He has taken all choice from me. Every chance for my happiness has been stripped of me!"

Hot tears had begun to streak down her face. Her hands shook, causing the reins to tremble along the horse's neck. Then, more quickly than the eye could follow, Valrance had dismounted and was standing at the side of Aranel's horse. His much larger and weather-worn hand lay across the quivering hands of his sister. He looked up at her, displaying his anguish and helplessness.

He could not answer her questions about their father. He could not keep her heart from the torment that came from this day. For that, Valrance felt powerless. He would have rather faced countless enemies than to see the look on Aranel's features in this moment.

A name hovered in both of their minds. A face. A presence that had graced Aranel's side for many a month. A presence that had become a friend for all three of them. A friend who had won Aranel's heart, just before Lord Dagon sent him away.

Aranel lifted her eyes to the horizon and whispered a name to the wind, allowing one last tear to slip down her cheek. She took a deep shaky breath and wiped at her face before turning her eyes back to Valrance.

"We must get to the field," she said, her voice quiet and holding just a hint of defeat.

Valrance was silent as he nodded, though his eyes didn't leave his sister's face for a few more moments. A question, remaining unasked, slipped through his eyes. Aranel saw it, and simply shook her head. She would not discuss it here. Not now. Another silent nod and Valrance turned, easily swinging up into his saddle.

The three of them turned and looked at each other before encouraging their horses to move forward again. The tournament field was in sight, and it would only be a short amount of time before they arrived.

"If you will excuse me," Thery spoke, causing the other two to glance at him, "I will leave you in the safety of your brother, my lady… I have been informed that a friend of mine is among the knights today, and I wish to see him before the day's events keep us all too busy."

Aranel smiled and nodded, "I envy you Thery, but please, go and see your friend."

"I will rejoin you before you are seated with Lord and Lady Icthus," Thery said with a smile as he turned his horse, and spurred it into a slow run towards the tents of the knights.

Aranel turned to look at Valrance, her face etched with a bit of wonderment and surprise, "Thery has never mentioned that he had a friend who might have been here today, has he?"

"Not to me," Valrance answered as his gaze followed the other man disappearing among the knights' tents, "Interesting isn't it?"

"Indeed," Aranel agreed, turning her eyes back to the ever-nearing tournament field.

True to his word, Thery rejoined brother and sister not long after they had dismounted and tied their horses. With a man on either side, Aranel made her way to where Lord Dagon and Lady Finella were seated.

Two chairs sat next to each other, their materials and color a stark contrast. Dagon sat in a chair of black wood, carved with the symbols of his house. Lions in many different poses covered the sides and back of the ornate chair. The wood was heavily polished, as though it were carved obsidian. Finella sat in a chair of ash wood. Like her husband's, her chair was carved with the symbols of her house – horses. In the light of the sun, her chair glowed white.

Dagon's bright green eyes were clearly unnatural in the hue of their color, but didn't waver from the trio that approached. His auburn hair, curly and unkempt, hung down past his ears and occasionally over those eyes. Dressed in darker shades of orange, the red highlights of his hair became apparent. He shifted in his seat, leaning against the backrest. Even sitting, he was tall and seemed to loom over his wife.

Finella, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind this. She knew her place as his wife, but also knew that he valued her for what she was capable of – and her beauty. She was almost exotic in that beauty. Her eyes were the darkest of browns, and spoke of wisdom beyond what most would think a woman capable of. Long brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, was pulled back in a braid that easily reached her thighs. Her skin, though aged, was still soft, and held a tan that never faded in the winter. This was only highlighted by the pale yellows that she wore, fashioned in a dress that only emphasized how noble she really was.

The attention of the couple focused on the three who approached them. Stopping before lord and lady, Aranel lowered herself into a curtsy, leaving Valrance and Thery to bow.

"You are late," Dagon spoke, his voice eerily calm. Vibrant green eyes flicked between the three before him.

"Forgive me, Father," Aranel's spoke softly, her head lowered to keep her eyes downcast, "My horse was misbehaving, and the men helped me to tame her."

"The horse was misbehaving," Dagon's trademark sarcastic nature came forth, "You… the only person of our house," he caught a look from Finella and smiled, "Besides my lovely and beautiful wife… who has been able to tame any horse in our stables… You had trouble with your horse?"

"She speaks in truth," Valrance lifted his eyes to meet his father's, "Aranel required assistance with her horse."

"Dagon, dear," Finella finally spoke, putting her hand over her husband's clenched fist, "It doesn't matter why the children are late… They are here, and you may begin your tournament."

"Yes, I may begin my tournament," Dagon said quietly, still sardonic, "Everything is perfect, with one exception – the gods hate me. Every effort put forth for this day, and they must scorn me, by making my sister and mother late, and causing my daughter's horse to misbehave."

Dagon's gaze leveled on her, and though she had still not lifted her head, Aranel could feel her father watching her.

"Please Father," she spoke again, her voice softer yet, "Forgive me…"

"Aranel, come here, and look at me," Dagon's voice was flat, and Aranel did as she was told, raising her green eyes to meet his, "Do not lie to me. I know your horse did not act up… it is not possible. I also know that you do not want to be here…"

"If you would only allow me to choose for myself…" Aranel began to speak, but stopped when Dagon raised a hand to silence her.

"It was a mistake to allow so many to come to you as they did. I should have had this tournament long ago, but I failed. I will not fail again. The man who wins this tournament will be the one best to protect and look after you. I have heard your arguments on the matter, and I will not hear them again. I have decided what will happen," Dagon leaned forward and took his daughter's face between his hands, "You must trust me Aranel… I do this for your own good."

"What a touching moment between father and daughter," a female voice, full of scorn and loathing, caused all eyes to turn and look, "So precious…"

There, near the edge of the family dais, stood a woman dressed entirely in black; the clothes of mourning. Her tanned skin was weathered and wrinkled. Her eyes were dark and disturbing. Long brown hair, wrapped up in a bun, with a color that matched Lady Finella's, was beginning to show the signs of her age, evident by the small grey wisps that were now peppering her hair. At one time, she might have been considered beautiful, but that was a time long passed, despite how elegantly her hair was done. Beside her stood an elderly woman, dressed in the same deep oranges to match Dagon. The material flowed around her and made her appear elegant in her obvious old age. Sharp hazel eyes peered around, from beneath the silver curls atop her head, and momentarily glared at the dark clad woman beside her.

"Sister," Dagon's hands slipped from Aranel's face as he stood to greet the women, his tone becoming warm as he greeted the older woman, "Mother. So glad that you were able to make it."

"So sorry to interrupt such a precious little moment," the tall woman spoke again, ignoring the now constant glaring from the older woman, "But you did want us here for your little games, did you not?"

"This is important, Eriga," Dagon retorted with a frown, "This is what will decide Aranel's future."

"Yes, yes," Eriga said with a wave of her hand, "Just get on with this. The sooner these games begin, the sooner they end. I have other, more important, matters that I could be attending to."

"Eriga!" the matronly voice of the older woman scolded, "You will show your brother respect, as well as the rest of his family. Were it not for them, you would be living in the wilderness, instead of creating your precious potions."

Eriga looked over at the older woman, once she had taken her seat, but said nothing. Her face was an emotionless mask, and for a long while, neither woman spoke. It was Eriga, however, who turned away first to stare at the field of competition.

"Now," the older woman turned to the rest of the gathered family, her tone becoming pleasant, "Where is my granddaughter?"

"Here," Aranel spoke up, her voice still timid, "I am here, Grandmother Oloriel."

The old woman wrapped her arms around Aranel before pulling back to look at her. Old wrinkled hands, deformed by the crippling pains of age, lifted to hold the fair young face before her, much like Dagon had done only moments before.

"Don't look so disheartened, my child," her old voice cracked, "This event might not be your idea of a good future, but you may be surprised by the end of the week."

The grandmother's eyes danced with an impish light. Aranel frowned, not quite understanding the old woman's words. Oloriel could be strange at times, and this was no exception. She was hiding something.

"Aranel," the old woman spoke again, "Please, smile for me today. It will be enjoyable, I assure you."

"I can only doubt that such will be the case, dear grandmother," Aranel fought to give the aged woman a smile, "But I will try, if only for your sake."

"Good!" and without another word, Oloriel moved to take her seat next to Dagon's chair, a spring in her every step, despite her advanced years.

"Come, everyone," Dagon's voice was loud enough to catch the attention of everyone, not already listening, nearby, "Sit down, and take your places. I want this tournament to start before the sun sets."

Dagon sat in his chair, Finella to his left, followed by Aranel, with Valrance and Thery standing behind her. To his right was his mother, Oloriel, and then Eriga. Eriga stood out from the rest, her dark clothing seemingly absorbing the light around her. A spot of darkness in a sea of color.

The wind picked up again, swirling through the family dais, before moving through the crowd. Its playful nature annoyed some of the people who mingled around the tournament field, lifting skirts and pulling hair.

The trumpet blasted, causing some of the gathered crowd to jump with the sudden noise. Knights and their squires paused in the midst of their last minute preparations to look around at the others. As the wind whipped past, blowing material from tents and clothing in various directions, it cared not that it was a hassle to the people in those final arrangements.

Men went back to their duties, focusing on being ready for presentation before lord, lady, and prize. Yet not all men had this as their sole focus. Standing near the darkest tent, colors of black, blue, and red, was a man whose gaze was focused on the manor above the field. His eyes, the color of blue topaz only appeared darker, emphasized by the deep blue tunic that he wore under his hauberk. Short black hair, trimmed close to his head with the exception of one single braid that fell down past his shoulder, didn't twist in the wind, but kept a small rhythm in the currents of air that moved past.

He knew that the family was present for the tournament, and that the house lay empty, but his mind could not be kept from dwelling on the memories of the past…

"_Kelmeras! Balian!" a young girl's voice shouted across the field, "C'mon! I want you to see the new foal born this morning!"_

"_I'll race you!" Kelmeras gave Balian a challenging grin before he sprinted forward through the grass, threatening to leave Balian far behind._

"_Oh yeah?" Balian started after his friend, laughing as he went. It was only a short distance and Balian had caught up with the other boy. They were easily matched, stride for stride, despite the two years that separated their ages. Kelmeras tried to shove Balian off balance, and with Balian's reaction to stay upright, both ended up tumbling to the ground below. They were still laughing when a shadow stretched over them both. The laughter died on their lips as they looked up at a young man._

"_You two need to be more considerate around the stables," he said, arms crossed over his chest, "You might spook the horses."_

"_Sorry 'Rance," Kelmeras smirked up at him, "Balian wanted to race."_

"_Hey," Balian protested, "You're the one that set the challenge... and…"_

"_Whatever the reason," Valrance interjected, "Knock it off. Aranel's waiting for both of you in the broodmare stalls."_

_Balian stood up and offered his hand to Kelmeras, helping the other boy to his feet. Looking back up at Valrance with an apologetic expression, Balian said, "Sorry Valrance, we'll be more careful."_

"_Yeah… just get going, or Aranel's going to be upset."_

_Giving Valrance one more smile, Kelmeras sprinted off, leaving Balian behind to catch up again. Rather than waste his breath, Valrance simple shook his head and motioned for Balian to follow._

_The mare's black coat gleamed in the dim light of the dusty stall. Large brown eyes drooped lazily as she dozed in the center of the four walls. The long silken tail twitched every once in a while, perhaps more habit than useful. The sounds of the stables- the burring and whinnies of other horses, men cleaning out the stalls, the stallions trumpeting from their nearby paddocks – even the three sets of curious eyes, at the stall door, didn't seem to appear to bother the mare._

_They were whispering, their voices kept to hushed tones, as they stared at the bundle of legs at the mare's feet. The colt did look to be made of mostly legs, stretched out on the hay; more than half of his body was those long gangly legs._

_With a dun colored coat that spoke of the warmth of the sun, it only made the black of his mane, tail, and legs all the more darker. But what was even stranger than the difference in mare and colt, was the peculiar black streak just behind the colt's front shoulders._

"_Do you think he's got one on the other side?" Balian voiced the question that they were all thinking._

"_I don't know," the young girl, Aranel, answered, "He's been sleeping for most of the morning."_

"_You would be too if you'd just been through all that…" Valrance voiced from behind the three, "Being born isn't exactly easy on anyone."_

"_Well, wake him up," Kelmeras stated, matter-of-factly, "Get him up on his feet so we can see."_

_Without waiting for an answer, the boy started to open the stall door to head inside. Aranel grabbed at his arm, "No! Leave him alone!"_

_Aranel's shout caused the black mare to lift her head, perking her ears towards the door, and a few things happened in that moment: Kelmeras glared at Aranel – the mare nickered softly – the colt stirred and woke, lifting it's head towards the noise – and Valrance, having stepped closer to stop Kelmeras, suddenly halted himself, staring into the stall._

"_What in Levancher's holy name?" his voice, a mixture of fear and wonder, caused everyone to look._

_The colt, now laid with his legs curled up underneath himself, ears perked, looking at those who had caused such commotion. It was not the fact that the colt was awake, but the colt's eyes that had caught such attention. They were the color of liquid gold, and reflected much like the precious metal. Balian, Kelmeras, Valrance, and Aranel all stared, in silence, until Kelmeras let out a sound of protest. Valrance's hand had unconsciously tightened around the boy's shoulder._

"_Go get Lady Finella," Valrance whispered harshly, as he pulled Kelmeras away from Aranel and pointed him towards the door of the barn, "And don't waste any time doing it."_

_Valrance left no space for argument, and Kelmeras ran from the barn in search of Lady Finella._

_Lady Finella had come to look at the colt, and Balian had been sent home. Kelmeras had already left for home after fetching the lady. For the next four days, Aranel could not be persuaded to leave the stall. Even Finella didn't understand. Normally, any mare who had just given birth, would be overprotective of their foal, and simply would not put up with having so much time spent with a human – Gezra, the black mare, didn't seem to care that Aranel's presence was a constant. Those mornings, when Finella came to check on her daughter, it was a common sight to see Gezra standing over her colt and Aranel, as they lay cuddled together in the hay. It was then that Finella suspected that Aranel had gained the gifts of the Horse People._

_The colt, named Arion, was the talk of the surrounding country. Word spread quickly throughout the villages, _'The house of Icthus had been blessed' _–_ 'The house of Icthus had been cursed'_ – In every case, everyone knew of the colt with the golden eyes and the strange black marks on either side of his body, just behind his front shoulders. Many from the tribe of the Horse People came to pay honor to Finella and her family, for being blessed with such a miracle, though none could say exactly what would come of it, or what the colt might be capable of. Through it all, Aranel would not be separated from Arion, for at least the first week, and every spare moment she had throughout the next two months, was spent with him. Even visits from Balian and Kelmeras couldn't hold her attention for very long._

_It was two years before Aranel showed any signs of interest in something other than Arion. The young horse was now to the point that he would only answer to Aranel's call. Balian and Kelmeras began to make regular visits again, though they greatly differed from previous years._

_Aranel was growing into a woman, and this fact was hard to hide from Balian and Kelmeras any longer. Aranel would soon be eligible for suitors, and both young men now had it on their mind when they paid visits to the Icthus house. Aranel, for all of her knowledge of horses, was innocent to the thoughts of her friends, though Valrance made it a point to never leave her alone with them anymore._

_It was probably the reason that they had all started out as friends. Noble-blooded women were hard to come by in this area, so the friendship with Aranel had been encouraged by the parents of both young men._

"_So my father said that I get to start training as a knight next year," Kelmeras said as he sat with his friends at the nearby river. Arion, now a constant companion to Aranel, grazed a small distance away, and Kelmeras couldn't take his eyes from the young horse, "He said that I need to find a horse before I can go."_

_Balian, stretched out on his side, watched the water stream by, bubbling over the rocks and other immovable debris, "Knighthood training is a hard thing, Kelmeras." Balian spoke from experience. He'd started his own training not more than six months ago, "And more than likely, you'll be serving as a squire first. I believe that all knights start that way."_

_Aranel sat near Valrance, her skirts spread around her, leaning back against a tree, her eyes closed, "Good luck in finding a horse. I'm sure you could buy one from my father. We've some of the best stock in the country."_

"_I'm not going to be a squire," Kelmeras turned to look at Balian, the look in his eyes determined and proud, "I'm going directly into the actual training. I don't have time to waste with squire-work."_

"_Working as a squire is part of it Kelmeras," Valrance said from his position near Aranel, "You can't truly be a good knight without knowing how to serve others."_

"_I'll do just fine," Kelmeras replied crossly, "I'm training for a knight, not a servant."_

"_Kelmeras," Aranel was sitting up and looking at him now, the beginnings of a frown on her face, "You don't have to be so defensive. Valrance and Balian only speak from experience…"_

"_Fine," Kelmeras's angry gaze shifted to look at Aranel, causing her to cringe, "Let them. But my path will not be the same as theirs!"_

"_Alright Kelmeras," Balian spoke up after seeing the distress on Aranel's face, "It won't be, but don't be irate with Aranel…"_

_Kelmeras was silent as he turned his gaze back to Arion. The young horse had stopped grazing and was looking at the group of young people, his ears perked forward and his golden eyes fixed on Kelmeras. That golden gaze shifted to Aranel, however, as she stood and walked away from the three young men. The young horse came without call, blowing softly in the girl's hair before letting her lean against his body. Balian and Valrance stared at Kelmeras. Balian had shifted to sit up, and Valrance had taken his usual pose with his arms crossed over his chest._

"_Kelmeras Melkor," Valrance's voice was strained as he struggled to keep his volume low, "How dense can you be?"_

"_What do you mean?" Kelmeras raised his eyes to Valrance with a challenging gaze._

"_Look, I may only be Aranel's brother, but I know why you two are hanging around her so much lately…"_

_The skin of Balian's face flushed pink, but Kelmeras simply stared. Valrance let out a sigh of frustration, "You keep acting like that, Kelmeras, and Aranel's not going to have anything to do with you."_

_Again, Kelmeras didn't say anything, causing Valrance to shake his head a sigh, "Fine, you want to mope, go right ahead. Balian? Come on up to the house, if you will. Aranel? Let's go."_

_Aranel looked up when Valrance called her name and without a word of protest, she followed, Arion right on her heels, devoted horse that he was. Balian watched them leave before he turned to look at Kelmeras, only to find his friend had stood to start walking back home._

"_Kelmeras," Balian called after him, moving to his feet, "What are you trying to do?"_

_Kelmeras muttered something under his breath, so that Balian couldn't hear, before turning to look at his friend, "Valrance thinks he knows so much. So do you. Well you don't. Neither of you do! And Aranel will still like me after my training is done, you'll see!" Kelmeras turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Balian to wonder what had set into Kelmeras's mind to give him such temper._

_For three days, Kelmeras didn't return to visit Aranel, didn't visit Balian, nor did he speak to anyone. His behavior made the small group of friends wonder what he was up to, and if he'd simply cut them off as friends._

_As it turned out, Kelmeras only wanted the best. Those three days that he had been gone, he had been discussing horses with his father, Jericho, telling him that the horse he had decided on was none other than Arion. Jericho agreed, and began negotiations with Dagon for the young stallion. Dagon saw no reason to not sell the horse – with the exception of the objections of Aranel and Finella. Aranel's love for the horse was 'unhealthy,' Dagon reasoned as he dismissed his daughter's arguments, and she needed to learn that not all things would last forever, nor always go her way. Finella also listed various reasons why the horse should stay, and while some of them were good – breeding stock, well mannered, nearly trained, Aranel's first horse of her own – they did not outweigh Dagon's decision._

_Balian was at the Icthus estate on the day that Kelmeras and Jericho came to claim Arion. Dagon had told Aranel to come to the stables, but the young girl refused, so it was Valrance who stood holding Arion's leadline. The look on his face was clearly not one that was pleased._

_Balian and Kelmeras regarded each other, but said nothing. Their eyes carried most of what they felt. Kelmeras had a look of triumph, while Balian could only look at his friend with nothing but contempt. How could Kelmeras have done such a thing to Aranel? Her love of Arion was well known, even to the common folk. Balian shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as Kelmeras walked near._

"_With Arion," he said to Balian, "I will only be a knight, not some lowly squire."_

"_You may be a knight," Balian snapped back, "But you've lost any chance with Aranel you may have ever had."_

"_She will see me when I come back, riding Arion, and will love me for my accomplishments."_

"_Keep thinking that way, Kelmeras. Pride will be your downfall."_

"_And humility, yours."_

A young squire carefully approached, pulling the man from his memories. The man turned his cloudy gaze to the boy, questioning. The boy held a piece of his armor, no doubt because the time to present before the family was drawing near. The boy was dressed to match the knight, in the same deep blues, though not as finely adorned. His clothing lacked the embroidered crest of the knight, and carried small patches of grime from his morning duties. However, where the blues highlighted the knight's eyes, it only emphasized how dark of a brown the boy's were, and how tawny his skin was. The curly black hair that topped his head was a tangled mess, made more so by the wind. Long black tendrils hung down in front of his eyes.

"M'lord," the boy answered holding up the black breastplate of the man's armor, "Your armor."

"Thank you, Pesach," he answered, his voice smooth as a smile worked its way across his face. The man stepped forward to take the armor from the lad, lifting it above his own head to put it on. Pesach moved quickly to the man's side and secured the fastenings to hold the armor in place. The man closed his eyes and took a deep collected breath, leaving Pesach to do his duty and go to fetch the other pieces of his armor.

The man ran his hand over the black metal, with an odd sort of respect. His fingers traced over the runes carved in the surface, and his eyes followed the movement. The metal was a foreign type of black, unseen in any of the surrounding areas. The surface was polished to an obsidian black, making the engraved runes invisible from every angle, except to the wearer. The runes had power to them, known only to the man who now wore it and that which gave it to him.

The town crier had been hired to act as the herald for the tournament. To do such was an honor, and he knew this. He knew it enough to understand that if he was a disappointment to Lord Dagon, he would regret it for the rest of his life. But he did not want to simply call out the knights as they entered- he wanted to entertain those who had come to watch. So, it was with a nervous grin that he placed himself in the middle of the arena, facing the noble family, and most of the crowd.

"Lord, Lady, and fairest of all maidens," he began with respect, bending at the waist and bowing his head, "Lady Oloriel Icthus and Lady Eriga Normargy, extensions of the great Icthus household. Loyal subjects and friends of this great country, we gather today for a great event. Today, we see the beginnings of a tournament!"

The man stopped as the crowd erupted into cheers. It was not often that they were blessed with such an event to distract them from the mundane of day to day life. Lord Dagon had even declared these days as days of rest. Of course, it helped that he wanted the tournament to be popular. So since people didn't have to work, they came to watch the events. As the crowd died down, the man smiled and bowed again, growing more confident.

"For many years we have watched the fair maiden, Aranel, grow in beauty and skill. Long have we seen men come seeking her hand, and go after being refused. Why so many? None were worthy!"

Again, the crowd erupted with applause and cheers of agreement. Long had they seen the men come and go, and many feared the day that Aranel would be married. She was considered a treasure among the common folk.

"None were worthy!" the man cried out again, and the crowd quieted once more, "So why are we here?"

A few voices in the crowd rose, calling for the answer. They were soon echoed by the rest of the crowd, and the volume grew again until the man raised his hands. Almost immediately, the crowd went quiet. There was a look of surprise on his face for a brief moment before the smile spread across his face again.

"We are here for our fair Aranel. We must find a suitable match for our fair Aranel!" Another cry of approval went up from the crowd. "Who is fit for our Aranel? Who has the right to her hand? Today, and these days afterwards, we will find one who is worthy! We will find a knight for our maiden! Do we have knights to compete!"

"Yes!" the crowd shouted in union.

"Yes! And one will be chosen. One will rise above the rest, so why do we delay? Why put off this tournament any longer? Let the games begin!"

The crowd's voices rose in a great cheer of anticipation and excitement. The hope was clear on everyone's faces.

"Where are our knights!" the crier called out again, and almost as if it had been rehearsed, the knights began streaming out onto the field, their horses trotting around the outer edge before making a line in the middle, all facing the family dais. The multitude of colors was amazing; the variety of armor, astounding; the differences in horses, surprising. Sixty-four men had come to seek Aranel as a prize. Sixty-four faces hid beneath the helms they wore, each as different as the flowers of the field. Sixty-four men were astride their mounts, waiting to see who would be skilled enough or lucky enough to make it through all the aspects of the tournament. To be the one who would take Aranel's hand in marriage.

Aranel watched the dramatics from her seat, hardly impressed with what was said by the town crier. When she was younger, she might have been flattered to think that the villagers thought so highly of her, but she was not so innocent anymore and scarcely believed that any of the villages and their townsfolk would worry that much about who she was attached to.

Her gaze moved over the insignias of each knight before letting her attention move to each horse. One thought was a constant in her mind – if she could not find a way out of this place as a prize, and if she were married to the winner of the tournament, then she would find her freedom with the horses. Many of the equines pranced, as war horses are bound to do. The armor of the knights clinked and clanked their protests against the horses' movement, as the men did their best to keep the horses calm. There were a few knights who were smart enough to have their squires come out and hold their mounts after they had all come to a stand still.

Aranel's attention was drawn however, by a horse that needed no attendant. The horse, clad entirely in black cloth and armor from its ears down to its hooves, was not moving. It was standing stone still, with its ears perked forward. It made Aranel wonder where the knight had found such a horse. The only other horse she knew of who would behave in such a way, had been Arion, but this was not him. This horse did not have the golden eyes so well known to the stallion. Aranel turned her eyes to the knight, curious as to whom it would be. The knight, like his horse, was clad entirely in black armor, and while the sunlight reflected from the surface, it also appeared to be absorbed into the metal. The dark blue piece of cloth that rested over his breastplate was embroidered with a crest that she did not recognize – a wolf's head.

The town crier was calling out the names of the knights, and Aranel turned her attention back to the man. She would look at the horses later, when she had more time to evaluate their demeanor and build.

"We have many great names among us today," the town crier continued, "Sir Malicon Edrahil! Sir Johann Tyko! Sir Aramiah Radagast! Sir Kelmeras Melkor! And, the dread Dark Wolf!"

The crowd cheered after each name, and booed as the name of the Dark Wolf was said. Surely their fair Aranel wouldn't be wed to such a man as he. He was said to be without a heart, and without mercy or love. Such a man should not have been allowed into the competition, and the crowd let their wishes known with boos and hisses.

While Aranel could have wanted to join in the crowd in displaying her disapproval, it was not because of the Dark Wolf. Instead, it was Kelmeras that made her want to hiss and jeer. He was the one who had made some of her younger years the worst she could have experienced. He was the reason that this tournament was happening. At least, in her opinion, he was. The memories were strong and nearly fresh.

"_Come to the stables, Aranel," Dagon said from her bedroom door, watching his daughter lay on her bed, facing away from him, "Come and learn how to part with a horse."_

"_No."_

_Dagon was growing angry, "Come to the stables, daughter. Do not forget, it was you who told Kelmeras that I had horses to sell. This includes even the young stallion. The price has been paid and he is sold. Now come and see the horse off, at least."_

"_No."_

"_Aranel!"_

"_No!" her voice hard and stubborn as she sat up from her place on her bed and turned to look at her father, "You knew that Arion was mine! You knew that! And you still sold him to Kelmeras! Now, you expect me to come and give away my horse to a boy that I now despise? Never!"_

"_It was not a request."_

"_I don't care! I'm not going. You sold Arion, you give him away."_

"_Kelmeras will want to see you."_

"_I… don't… care… the boy can rot in the abyss for all I care. He knew how much I loved Arion, and he went behind my back. I'm not going, and you can not make me."_

_Dagon nodded, his face void of any expression, "You are right. I can not make you. I can however, limit your time in the stables. Such will be done after today."_

_Aranel said nothing more as Dagon turned on his heel and left the room. Valrance, who had been standing in the hallway, looked into the bedroom and met his sister's gaze. His brows were furrowed together in worry, but Aranel simply shook her head. She was too near tears for her brother to try and comfort her._

"_Valrance," Dagon's voice came from down the hall and Valrance turned to him, "Come to the stables and help to finish this agreement."_

_Valrance looked back to his sister, and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," before he disappeared down the hallway with their father._

_Aranel sat on her bed for a long while before she moved to the window, just in time to see Valrance lead Arion from the stables. He was an obedient horse, to the right people, and wasn't giving Valrance any trouble at all. Aranel sighed. It was to be expected. Arion was a good horse, even her mother had said so, mostly because of how much time Aranel had spent with him._

_She noticed Balian standing near the stables, and while she was glad for him to be there, she had to wonder for a moment if he was planning to take something, just as Kelmeras was doing. Valrance was leading Arion over to Kelmeras and his father, Jericho, and Aranel could feel the tears starting to burn at the back of her eyes. She hardly noticed when Valrance had pulled Kelmeras close to say something. Aranel was turning away from the window and heading out of her room before a thought had completely made its way across her mind._

_Running out the front entrance of the house, she was just in time to see Kelmeras and Jericho beginning to head off towards the village._

"_I hate you Kelmeras!" she shouted across the distance, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, "I hate you!"_

_Kelmeras turned in his saddle as his horse continued to walk along side of Jericho's. There was pain in his expression, as if he did not expect such a reaction, "You don't understand Aranel…"_

"_Yes I do!" Aranel shouted back, cutting him off, "I understand more than you realize… You take Arion from me, knowing that he was mine… I hate you for it. I never want to see you again!"_

_Arion whinnied at the sound of Aranel's voice, lifting his head to look at her. Tears were streaming down her face. The young stallion pulled at the tether that Kelmeras held. Kelmeras's face was still pained, but when Arion pulled against him, he turned away from Aranel, and continued riding away, his shoulders slumped, pulling Arion with him._

Aranel's gaze now rested on Kelmeras, Knight of the Scorpion. She narrowed her eyes with the memory. He had taken her most prized of possessions, and still had the nerve to pursue her hand only a few years later. To say that there was bad blood between them was a mild statement. She stared at him, her eyes lowering to the horse only long enough to know that it was not Arion. She felt the pain in her heart, knowing that it wouldn't have been her beloved stallion, even if she wouldn't have wanted to see him with Kelmeras.

During those weeks when Kelmeras tried to persuade her to be his wife, he had told her that Arion had been sold, due to unruliness. Aranel had been left speechless, and refused to see him afterwards. It was not long after this that her father had determined that the tournament needed to be held, and plans were set into motion, despite her objections.

Now, here she sat, staring at the field of competition. Sixty-four men set before her. One of which would be her husband at the end of the tournament.

_Jericho and Kelmeras mounted the horses that they had ridden to the Icthus estate and Kelmeras reached to take the rope from Valrance. However, before handing off the young stallion, he pulled Kelmeras down far enough so that when he spoke, only Kelmeras would hear._

"_If you take Arion from our land, don't ever think of coming back," there was a look in Valrance's eyes that carried a silent threat. It was a look that made Kelmeras flinch, if only for an instant, before that Melkor pride slipped back in his eyes._

"_Give me my horse, Valrance Icthus," Kelmeras said as he sat upright in his saddle, "You may be the son of Dagon, but you do not outrank me by any means. In fact, when next you see me, you will be unable to refuse me passage in your father's lands, for I will be a knight. You, no doubt, will be the same as you are now. Nothing, but a bully."_

"_You keep thinking that, Melkor," Valrance returned, "You might have right to enter these lands, but I will still be Aranel's protector and brother, and I don't have to let you near her."_

"_You can't control your sister, 'Rance," Kelmeras smirked, "If she chooses to see me, you can't stop her."_

_Valrance snorted a laugh, "Then I won't have anything to worry about. Here. Take Aranel's prized horse away, and see if she wants to see you."_

_Valrance handed off the rope for Arion, and without another word, he turned and walked away. Not bothering to see the smirk that he knew would be on the boy's face. It didn't matter what Kelmeras thought. By taking Aranel's valued equine friend, Kelmeras was only putting a larger chasm between him and the girl. As if the gods wanted to prove that very point, Aranel burst from the manor, screaming at the object of her hatred. Valrance turned around, moving his gaze back and forth between his sister and Kelmeras._

_Only once did Valrance look at Balian, but the other young man only had eyes for Aranel. Valrance could see how desperately Balian wanted to comfort Aranel, but it wasn't his place._

_Valrance shifted his gaze back to Kelmeras, and found himself glad to see the look of pain on the boy's face, though the glare that Jericho cast at Aranel was something that Valrance didn't care for. He didn't have to look back at Aranel to see the turmoil on her face because he could hear it in her voice. So as he moved towards his sister, Valrance kept his gaze on the older Melkor._

_Jericho's eyes turned to Valrance just long enough that Valrance came to a sudden revelation. Women were lower than dirt in Jericho's eyes that much was clear, and by the way that it seemed, Kelmeras was growing up in his father's footsteps. It was no wonder that Kelmeras never spoke of his mother._

"_Aranel," Valrance kept his voice soft as he came near to his sister, "Aranel, let's go inside the house."_

_Aranel had finished her outburst, and with her nerves still shaking, she let Valrance lead her back to the house. Though it may have been awkward for him, Valrance never let Jericho leave his sight until he had his sister safely in the door._

As Valrance stood behind his sister now, facing the field of competitors with the rest of his family, and Thery, his mind tumbled over the past few years. So many times, he had simply wanted to shield Aranel from the manipulation of power hungry men who wanted her for nothing more than a possession. Kelmeras was at the top of that list, in Valrance's opinion, and he hadn't seen eye to eye with Dagon when the Melkor youth had been granted permission to pursue Aranel's hand.

When Valrance had heard Kelmeras announced with the other knights, he had sought out his placement, eyes narrowing upon the sight of him. He clenched his hands at his side, one hand wrapping around the handle of his mace. In Valrance's eyes, Kelmeras deserved no place in this competition, having been disqualified long ago on the day he took Arion. He shouldn't have been allowed to come back, but until Dagon handed over the Icthus estate, Valrance was powerless to do anything.

"Let the first knights prepare for the joust!" the town crier's voice pulled Valrance from his thoughts and his eyes turned back to the small man who stood in front of the many knights and their horses. Sixty four men, all fighting over his sister, and Valrance didn't like one of them. None were worthy in his eyes. Two knights were chosen randomly, and the rest were dismissed.

The thunder of hooves met with the rising cheer of the crowd as two knights charged towards each other. Leaning forward over their saddles, they each held their lances ready to strike. The wind, thrilled with the beginning of the event, raced to meet each rider and horse. It whipped the manes and tails of the horses away from the bodies of the powerful steeds. It drove itself against the knights, challenging them to battle against it, to meet their opponent.

With a mighty crash, each knight met the lance of his opponent and a collective gasp went up from the crowd as one knight toppled from the back of his horse. The breath of air was held just long enough to hear the metal clank as the man hit the ground, before the roar of the crowd rose in deafening applause. Both horses continued on their directed paths, only one still carrying its rider. The riderless horse was caught, and the unseated knight helped from the field. The knight still astride his horse, moved back to the center of the field, and bowed his head.

"Sir Jedan Menich!" the town crier announced the winner of the first joust, "His lineage great! His skill even greater! The first to achieve the honor of competing again tomorrow!"

The crowd roared their approval once again, allowing the knight to spur his mount to move. The white horse sprang into motion, a picture of fluidity and grace as it and its rider exited the field, allowing the next two competitors to enter.

The jousts continued into the afternoon, but none of them could draw Aranel's attention. She didn't care who won each match, though the town crier's voice made sure that none would miss the names. She didn't care if there were men moving on to the next stage of competition. She didn't care, until she heard Kelmeras announced as the next of contenders.

Riding a strong and healthy slate-grey horse, Kelmeras rode onto the field, proudly bearing his colors. He carried his lance with him, sporting a green flag, embroidered in gold with the symbol of a scorpion. The smile on his face only grew as the crowd recognized the man for the youth that had so frequently visited the Icthus estate. He steered his mount to the proper place in the field before he paused to raise his lance in salute, happy to hear some of the crowd chanting his name. As much as he enjoyed the glory, however, his eyes shifted to look at the knight opposite him. This was the person he was about to defeat, and there was no doubt in his mind about it. He lowered his lance to his squire so the boy could remove the flag.

Opposite him, mounted on a white horse that looked to be polished with the freshest of snow, sat Sir Tosam Clapyre. His armor was almost an ivory, this only highlighted by the soft sea green of his colors. He lowered his lance as well, allowing his squire to remove the flag from the end. A white piece of cloth, detailed with the sea green symbol of a fish.

Each man lowered their visors, and stood ready, waiting for the signal that would start them towards each other. Their eyes rested on the town crier in the middle who now stood with a flag in his hands, the cloth resting in the dirt. The flag was raised, and the town crier hurried out of the way as both knights spurred their horses forward.

Again, hooves pounded the earth, the vibration felt by the people who surrounded the field. All eyes followed the knights as they drew near to each other. The wind whipped against the horses and their riders, as lances were aligned and drew ever nearer. With a powerful crack of wood and metal, the lances connected with their intended targets, and a man was sent tumbling to the ground below.

It was Kelmeras' aim that had been truer, and as he wheeled his horse around, the crowd again erupted into applause and the chanting of his name.

"Father," Aranel turned to Dagon, trying to remain as impassive as she could. She wanted to get away from the field, "Would you call an intermission, so that we might refresh ourselves before the rest of the knights compete?"

Dagon looked down at his daughter, raising his brows in consideration, "I suppose that could be a wise idea. Just long enough for everyone to satisfy themselves with a bit of food and such, don't you agree, Finella?"

"Whatever you deem worthy, my dear," Finella said as she turned to look at her husband, her dark eyes smiling, "But a pause in the jousting would be good, if only for the spectators."

"It is decided then," Dagon said as he turned back to the field. The crowd was still cheering for Kelmeras, and the knight had not yet left the field. Standing, Dagon moved to the edge of the dais, catching the attention of the town crier, and Kelmeras. No thought was given to Sir Tosam as he was helped from the field.

"Jarvis, Sir Kelmeras," Dagon's voice boomed over the field as he waved his arm, motioning them nearer. He waited until they were close before he spoke again, "I am taking pause at this point of the jousting. Make sure that everyone knows this. I will have the trumpets sound again when we begin."

"Yes, m'lord," Jarvis bowed to Dagon before returning to the center of the field to do as he was bid, announcing the respite that was arranged.

"Yes, Lord Dagon," Kelmeras answered with a bow of his head. When he raised his head however, his eyes drifted from the receding back of Dagon to where Aranel sat. A smile, hidden by his helmet, crossed his face as he observed her ever present beauty. She would truly be a prize to be had and his intentions were to take her as his own. This tournament would be easily won by someone in his position. Such were the thoughts that ran their way through his mind, only to be brought back by the presence of Valrance, standing between him and the sight of Aranel. Kelmeras blinked his eyes and waited to speak until the rest of the family had gone, "Rance… good to see that you have not changed."

"Be gone from my sight Kelmeras," Valrance's hand tightened around his mace, anger clear on his face. Kelmeras did not belong, "You are not welcome here, and you've no right to Aranel…"

"Yet…" Kelmeras finished as he lifted his visor. Eyes, the color of a clear blue sky, were alight with greed and lust, "Not yet… but soon."

"Never," Valrance growled, barely restraining himself, "Not even if you win this… thing. You'll have one more fight to face… and it will be one that you will lose."

"The next time you address me with anything less than my title," Kelmeras smirked, enjoying the fact that he had riled Valrance, "I may just grant you that wish much sooner, Son of Dagon."

"You deserve no title," Valrance growled again. He might have spoken more, had it not been for the delicate hand of his sister upon his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to look at Aranel.

"Not here, Valrance," she spoke softly, keeping her gaze from Kelmeras. Anything to keep from looking at the man, "Please."

"Yes, Rance," Kelmeras jeered, fully amused by the situation, "Go on and listen to your little sister…"

Aranel turned her eyes on Kelmeras in that moment, flashing a brilliant emerald green. It was enough to make Kelmeras flinch, "Be gone, Sir Kelmeras. Your time to speak with me or mine has not yet come."

Kelmeras smiled, but wisely kept silent as he turned his horse away from the family dais. With a harsh kick, he spurred his horse into a gallop, exiting the field in a flurry of green cloth and dust. Aranel turned from the field and moved as quickly as she could to exit the platform, tears already stinging at the back of her eyes. Valrance and Thery were on her heels, as she headed towards the nearby fruit orchard.

The breeze moved through the orchard, twisting and winding around the trees. Branches shook and leaves quivered, nearly masking the hurried footsteps that padded through the grass. Two sets of heavier footsteps followed and the wind gave pursuit. Curling and spinning around in the grass, the breeze made its way towards the three, and listened in on the conversation.

"Aranel…" there was frustration in Valrance's voice as he hurried to keep up with the heated pace of his sister, "Aranel, slow down. Just… wait."

Aranel simply made a motion with her arms, and kept walking, leaving Valrance and Thery to follow. Valrance glanced to the man who moved beside him, and Thery nodded once, before separating, and jogging off through the trees.

"Aranel," Valrance spoke more firmly this time, "You need to stop."

"Leave me alone, brother," she snapped back at him, and continued to walk.

Valrance shook his head, and left the rest up to Thery. The edge of the orchard was quickly approaching, and the village wasn't far from there. He didn't want to be that far away from the tournament field. Valrance slowed his pace, hoping that Aranel would realize that she wasn't being pursued as relentlessly. However, if she remembered anything of the past, she would have known what to expect next.

Thery had positioned himself off of the path, just far enough that it would be effective. As Aranel drew closer, Thery closed his eyes to concentrate for a moment. Pulling the moisture from the air in the area, Thery began to form a wall of ice that spread between a few trees. So skilled was he in his magic, and so quickly did the wall form, that Aranel, in her fury, did not have much time to stop. She stood there for a moment, staring at the ice wall. In turning to walk around it, however, she found that she had been encased. Aranel's pause had given Thery just enough time to completely surround her.

"Thery!" Aranel was frustrated, but her voice simply portrayed her surrender, "Thery, please."

"I cannot risk you harm, my lady," he responded as he drew near the ice structure, concentrating on keeping it from melting in the warm air, "Nor can I risk you going so far from the tournament field."

"Why not? My presence is not needed for this farce to continue."

"It may not be needed, my lady," Thery replied, his voice still calm and respectful, "But your father has required it, and my position in your household, perhaps even my life, would be forfeit if I were to fail him in this way."

Aranel sighed softly, knowing the truth in his words, "I would not wish that upon you Thery, but you cannot keep me in this ice chamber until the tournament begins again."

"Actually," Valrance had finally joined them, though he was still not happy about Aranel running off like she did, "He could."

Aranel said nothing, and Thery gave Valrance a look of reproach. This was not a good way to treat his sister. Valrance could see Thery's disapproval, and he simply shook his head, exhaling noisily as he folded his arms across his massive chest.

"He could," Valrance continued, "But he won't. We protect you, but we're not your prison guards. Don't make us be such."

"I do not make you my prison guards," she answered from behind the ice walls, "You do this with your own actions and how you treat me..."

"Aranel," Thery's gentle voice cut in, "You hear, but you do not listen. When you act so rashly, as you have in these last few moments, you make us act in haste to keep you from harm."

"What harm could there be in the village?"

"Perhaps none, but with today's events, we cannot let you wander so far from your father's sight."

"He does not see me," Aranel sighed as she stepped back to the center of the ice chamber, her gaze drifting to the leaves of the trees above the tops of the walls that surrounded her. The scents of the fruit trees drifted towards and around her, and for just a moment, she closed her eyes.

Apples. The sweet and tangy scent wafted through the air from the nearby trees. A soft thud brought Aranel's eyes open, to see the apple that had fallen to the earth inside that icy prison. Harvest was not far off. It wasn't more than a week away, and providing that the tournament went as planned, it would be the first duties to be carried out by the villagers afterwards. Aranel sighed again, wishing more than anything that she was anywhere but here. Picking up the apple, she studied its color. So fresh, so inviting, and yet it was an omen that even the tournament would still happen, despite her want. It was then that she noticed that a single wall of the icy chamber had melted away to reveal Valrance and Thery. Her brother was the first to step forward towards her.

"Aranel," for such a strong man, there was helplessness in his voice, "I cannot keep this tournament from happening. I cannot make our father see the folly in such an event. Levancher knows that I would, if I were capable. Can't you see that? Can't you understand that I am as helpless in this as you are? Even I cannot stand against our father when he welcomes knights such as Kelmeras to our property."

"To what do I owe the honor of your lovely presence, my lady?" the man turned his attention to the woman who now stood before him.

A sly smile was painted on her lips, "The same honor that your presence graces this tournament with, my lord."

The man scoffed his disgust, "This tournament is a farce. I cannot believe that Dagon would allow such a circus to occur."

"Surely this tournament is not what distresses you," the woman's voice purred as she drew nearer the man, "But the rejection of the girl that has scorned your pride."

He turned his eyes to the woman in anger, "You know nothing of pride."

"Don't I?"

"A woman that would poison her own husband? No. There is no pride left in your black soul. Greed perhaps, but not pride."

"Ah," she bowed her head in mock respect, "My lord doth know his lady."

"My lady," he was amused by this, "And what if you were truly… my… lady?"

"Nothing would stand in our way," she smiled at him again.

"Or would I stand in yours? Would you poison me as well, my dear?"

"You are far stronger and more keen than my late husband, my lord. One cannot poison the strong."

The man smiled as he looked at her, pondering what might lie in his favor. He leaned in close as she offered her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles.

"Do you know what I desire, my lady?" he spoke softly, his breath warm against her skin.

"You wish to see victory in this travesty of a competition, my lord," her eyes didn't leave him now, though the smile had relaxed slightly. A gleam of hunger passed behind the surface of her eyes.

"Yes… a mockery, isn't it," he raised his face to look at her, but continued to hold her hand, "I wish to claim that which has been denied me and mine."

"The girl?"

"Indeed," a grin worked its way across his face, "Might you be able to help me, my dark angel?"

"I believe I just might have that capability, my lord," she leaned in closely to him, her lips barely brushing the tender flesh of his ear. When she finished speaking her secret, she moved back and smiled at him yet again.

The man looked at her for a long moment, before he returned the smile and spoke, "You have such a pretty smile. It's a shame the things you hide behind it."

"Receiving such words from you, my lord," her smile remained, "I shall accept them as a compliment."

"Only one thing troubles me with your plan, my dear," he spoke as his brows furrowed with the thought, "Dagon will not acknowledge the victory if he suspects such underhanded tactics."

"And if I told you that Dagon would not have the ability to argue?"

"Something tells me that it is not only Dagon that you plot against, my lady," the man gently let go of her hand, "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"Simply to take back what was rightfully mine in the beginning," she replied as her gaze grew cold, contrasting the still-present smile, "Just as you do, my lord."

"There is not compassion left in you, is there, my beauty?"

Her voice was cold and hard with her next words, "Any scrap of compassion that still existed in my soul was permanently snuffed out when they cast me out into the flames."

"My apologies, my dear," the man bowed his head, "It seems that our goals lie next to one another."

"Indeed, they do," she responded, "My plans will begin as soon as you give me leave, my lord."

"Then by all means, my lady," he smiled as he took her hand and again, kissed her knuckles, "Proceed."

She curtsied once before turning and moving away, while the man simply watched. The male part of him appreciated the view.


	2. Chapter 2

_Balian stood in Dagon's study, waiting for the man to come and speak with him. His palms were sweating and he could feel his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest. Starting to pace the floor, Balian had to stop himself. Pacing would not help, but neither would sitting. He had not been invited to make himself comfortable while he waited. It was the first sign that he had been given that let him know that this meeting was not going to bode well. The other had been the fact that Dagon wanted to talk with Aranel first and, even now, Balian could hear Dagon's voice from upstairs, over the crackling of the fireplace. He couldn't hear what words were being said, but the anger behind that voice could not be ignored._

_Without warning, Dagon could no longer be heard. Balian stood in the middle of the room, holding his breath and trying to hear any sounds of the previous argument. In the sudden silence however, the sputtering of the small fire seemed to have grown into a raging inferno. Balian couldn't hear anything outside of that room._

"_Balian Draugluin!" Dagon's voice cut the silence like a crack of thunder as he stepped into the study, green eyes blazing with fury, "How dare you!"_

"_My lord," Balian dropped himself to one knee as his heart leapt into his throat, "If I might explain…"_

"_Explain!" Dagon's anger could not be kept from his voice, "Explain what? Why you have chosen to disgrace my family in this particular way? Explain why you have turned my daughter against me? To humiliate me?"_

_Balian didn't answer right away. He didn't think that Dagon wanted him to speak. Not yet. The older man was now sitting at the massive wooden desk in the corner, his back to Balian and his head bowed. The silence of the room grew once more before giving way to the sounds of the fireplace as another log hissed its death. Balian's gaze rested on Dagon, but he still feared to speak._

_Slowly, Dagon turned in his chair to look at Balian, but his expression was unreadable._

"_Balian," Dagon's voice had lowered in volume and intensity, though it was still tainted with anger and disappointment, "Not everyone is welcome in my home."_

_Balian remained ever silent. Dagon had a point to prove and the younger man knew better than to interrupt._

"_For many years, too many to bother counting, I have welcomed you into my house. I have, not that long ago, granted you permission to pursue Aranel's hand. What on this green earth would possess you to such bastardry now? How have we offended you that you would choose to disgrace us in this way?"  
_

"_I meant no disgrace, my lord," Balian's voice was careful as he spoke, "I swear to the gods… I meant no disgrace…"_

"_Then how might you explain the happenings of this night!"_

"_Does my lord allow his servant to speak?"_

"_Indeed he does! And the words had better be pleasing to him."_

"_If I may start from the beginning…" Balian raised himself slightly, his eyes still on Dagon, waiting until the older man gave the slightest of signals that he could rise from where he knelt._

"_Get up," Dagon said with a flurry of his hands, "Find yourself a seat… and yes. Start from the beginning, by all means."_

_Balian stood and bowed, thankful that Dagon was granting him the comfort of a seat, instead of the punishment of remaining where he had been, "My thanks to you, my lord." Balian selected a seat that would face him towards Dagon. He did not want the other man to think that he was afraid of him so completely._

"_I received my knighthood this morning, and was released from training to visit family and friends before finding a small quest to accomplish. The road, as you know, is long… and my departure was late. My lord had offered, many times, a place to stay when the way was dark and the horse and rider weary."_

_Dagon nodded in agreement, acknowledging that fact, and letting Balian continue._

"_It was under this welcome that I brought my horse into your stables. I had not unsaddled her, with the intentions of leaving right away in the morning. I was directed to the house, by one of my lord's stablehands, and told that one of the kitchen maids would find me a place to rest. Upon entering my lord's home, I found Aranel standing in the main hall, pacing as a cat would. Unintentionally, I startled her, but she ran to me, and threw her arms around me in greeting."_

"_Yes, yes," Dagon interrupted, "My daughter has told me as much. She also told me that it was her idea for the ride, because of your planned early departure in the morning."_

"_Yes, my lord," Balian answered, "This is true, and she would not be swayed from the idea."_

"_Or is it perhaps that you could not deny her?"_

"_My lord knows that a man cannot deny a woman that he loves."_

_Dagon did not answer right away, but instead motioned with his hands for Balian to continue._

"_My lord's daughter was dressed in modesty, or I would not have considered escorting her outside to the stables. I must admit… there was a joy in my heart in being so near to her again. I brought my horse, helped Aranel to mount, and sat behind her as we walked from the yard. It was not my intentions to go as far as we did."_

"_Enraptured by the moon? Caught in its beams? Lost in the coolness of the dark?"_

"_Yes, my lord."_

"_My daughter tells me that you reached the orchard."_

"_Yes, my lord. It is also when we heard the cry of alarm go up from the house. I swear on my life, we did nothing but speak to each other. I laid no perversity of my lips or body upon her."_

"_My daughter has also told me this," Dagon affirmed, though his voice still portrayed his unhappiness, "She said that you did not violate any part of her. But this still does not rectify the problem that you have set before me, Balian."_

_Dagon stood from his chair, walking away from the desk. When he was in front of the fireplace, and both hands clasped behind his back, he spoke. His voice was filled with misery, and he did not bother to turn his face away from the flames._

"_There are those in this country that would seek to harm me through my family. Many things were assumed when my daughter was first discovered missing. To find that she was with you was both a relief and a disappointment. You left the estate, with Aranel, but no guards… without her escorts! Were I a harsh man, I would not have waited to hear your reasons and explanations. You would have been killed upon sight, for the defilement of our family name, guilty or innocent. Innocent you claim to be, and while I do believe your words, I cannot leave this deed unpunished."_

_Dagon turned to look at Balian now, his eyes clearly showing his frustration with the younger man._

"_My lord," Balian stood and knelt again, angling his body towards Dagon, "Name the price, and I will pay it. Name my duty, and I will fulfill it. I only beg that you not cast me from Aranel's side… It was my hope that after seeing my family that I would return and offer a dowry for her hand… Name your price, my lord. Double or triple it, if you wish, and I will pay it."_

"_I do not sell my daughter so cheaply, for things of stone or money. But..." Dagon paused for a moment, a few different thoughts moving through his mind. His anger rose again, and he nearly roared his next words, "NO! Aranel is not yours to simply do with as you wish! Not yet! The events of this night must be dealt with before you may continue in your bartering."_

_Balian flinched under the weight of Dagon's words, bowing his head even lower before the older man. The soft padding of footsteps reached his ears, but he didn't dare to lift his head, and instead only prayed that it was not Aranel._

"_Dagon?" Finella's voice slid through the air like the whisper of butterfly wings, "My dear and love… What is wrong?"_

_Dagon turned to his wife, the surprise on his face unmistakable at the sight of her presence. He sighed deeply as he lifted a hand to rest it on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, "It is hard to answer what is wrong, when nothing is right."_

"_Surely there is something good in all of this," Finella was the voice of reason in the household, and she was the counterbalance of Dagon's moods. Balian knew this from the many hours he'd spent with the family, but even he doubted that she could quell Dagon's anger._

"_Nothing," Dagon replied in the same dejected tone, and spoke as if Balian was not in the room, "Nothing good can come of this. I had such high hopes for him and our daughter. I had even planned to approach him about claiming Aranel as his own in the next few weeks. I see their love for one another. I've yet to meet anyone who could not see it… But now… with such a foolish action, how can I simply… hand her over to him?"_

"_Easily, my love…" Finella spoke softly, casting a brief glance at the young man who still knelt on the floor, "You arrange the wedding. If Balian had deflowered our daughter, in the customs of my tribe, he would be killed, and the child as well, before it was able to draw breath… But he hasn't. Balian cares too much for our Aranel to shame her in such a manner."_

"_So I reward them for their foolishness? I think not! And I would not have them punished so harshly for something they did not do."_

"_Then what is your solution, my dear husband?"_

_Dagon fell silent for a moment, turning his eyes back to the dying flames of the fireplace. He took a deep breath and let it out heavily. After a few more moments, he finally turned to look at Balian, his expression somber and unsmiling, but there was a light in his eyes that spoke of inspiration._

"_To your feet Balian," Dagon instructed the young man, "There are things to discuss, between a lord and knight, and I will not have you on your knees the entire night."_

"_Yes, my lord," Balian said as he rose to his feet, "What would you have of me?"_

"_Answers."_

_For the majority of the next hour, Dagon and Balian conversed, as Finella sat and listened to all that was said. The men discussed property and possessions, goals and accomplishments. Dagon wanted to know the finer details of what kind of inheritance Balian would come into once his father passed into the heavens. The facts of what was told were rather amazing to Dagon. Though Lord Erastus Draugluin did not boast of his assets and material goods, his estate was rather large and extensive. Nearly superior to the Icthus estate, when compared._

"_It appears that your path will have you well established to support a family," Dagon said after learning much of what he wished, "It would have been easy to give you my daughter… were it not for the foolish actions of earlier."_

"_Forgive me, my lord," Balian replied and nearly begged, "How may I prove myself worthy again?"_

_Dagon was silent, but his eyes were alight once again with the same inspiration as before._

"_You are a knight now," Dagon let the words roll out slowly, "And you are in need of a quest, are you not? Your first?"_

"_Yes, my lord. I was to return to the Master's house to receive such a quest."_

"_I shall put pen to paper and write to the Master," Dagon said with a twisted sort of smile, "I have a quest in mind."_

"_My lord?" Balian suddenly felt unsure of himself again._

"_Do not worry, my boy," Dagon let out a hearty laugh, "Tis but a simple task I ask of you. You have heard of the Viridian Edge, have you not?"_

"_This is your simple task?" Balian's disbelief was in his voice, "That blade is nothing but a myth."_

"_On the contrary," Dagon corrected, his expression serious, "It is the weapon of the true knight, and I have seen it."_

_Balian could only look at Dagon, skepticism etched into his features. Dagon simply regarded the young man, as a teacher would a student._

"_I have seen it," Dagon repeated, "It is not merely legend or myth, but a thing of reality. It is this, that I will have you find, for here is the test. If you are a true knight, and true to your word, then you will be able to wield the weapon. If not, then you will have lied to me and mine, and it will prove that you are not worthy for my family."_

"_So tell me again," Kelmeras turned in his saddle to look at Balian, "What are we looking for?"_

"_The Viridian Edge," Balian answered as he hurried his own horse to catch up with his friend, "Ages ago, the Viridian Edge was just a simple sword, wielded by a great knight. He said that the sword of a knight was merely a tool – that a true knight could make anything into a killing weapon. Finding a vein of green ore, he forged it into a fairly simple weapon. It was easily broken then, and he had to reforge it after each fight. It was when he called it the Viridian Edge. The sword passed onto his son, after the spirit of the old knight strengthened the blade. His son called it Shieldbreaker, and the son never had the need to reforge it after each fight. It seemed as if the blade itself claimed its own victory and strengthened itself. The Viridian Edge – weapon and shield breaker, mightiest of blades forged by the greatest of knights. Those who attempt to even touch it, which are not pure enough for the sword, are burned by a white fire of sheer purity, which runs down the length of the blade."_

"_That blade is a myth and the story a legend," Kelmeras argued, "Something meant to encourage and motivate young men in training to be knights."_

"_Apparently, Lord Dagon has seen it," Balian countered, "And I'm not going to take his word lightly."_

_Kelmeras made a small sound of disagreement, "I think he just wanted to get you away from Aranel. Give others a chance at her."_

"_Like you?" Balian grinned as he poked a bit of fun at the other young man, "I fail to remember Lord Dagon fussing when I asked if you could accompany me on this quest."_

"_That's because we're plotting together," Kelmeras poked back, "We're gonna get you out of the way, dress me up to look like you, and trick Aranel into marrying me."_

_Balian laughed, "You'll be hard pressed to get that grain colored mop of yours to be as black as my hair."_

_Both young men shared a small moment of laughter before the conversation fell to a more somber mood._

"_Kelmeras," Balian's gaze was set on the road ahead now, "Why don't you come and visit her?"_

"_She hates me," Kelmeras's voice was flat, "And I'm not a knight yet."_

"_So?"_

"_Valrance won't let me near her. I have to be a knight to demand passage and rights."_

"_You could just give Arion back," Balian's voice was careful in that statement as his eyes shifted back to the golden-eyed stallion, burdened with their supplies, "You only use him as a pack horse…"_

"_I can't give him back…" there was a defeated tone to Kelmeras, "As much as I want to… I can't."_

_Balian looked at his friend, confused by his words, but saying nothing in return. He began to wonder, though, just how many of Kelmeras's goals were his own. They rode in silence for a mile or two before they stopped to make camp in the dimming light of the sun._

"_Four months travel," Kelmeras spoke as he tended the fire, leaving Balian to look to the horses, "And the only clue we've gotten is to find some wizard. That was told to us over a month ago."_

"_It's better than nothing," Balian smirked as he pulled the saddles from the horses, "And we're still a month away from even entering his territory."_

"_So why did you bring me with? Just to keep you company?"_

_Balian laughed slightly as he made sure that the horses were tied securely to a large log at the edge of the camp. He paused for a moment to scratch Arion's ears, "Sure I did… but I also know that once you reach your knighthood, that you would need a quest as well, so I thought I'd help you with it. It's a quest for each of us."_

"_How might that be?" Kelmeras put a couple pieces of meat over the fire to cook as he looked over at his friend, "What do I really get out of this quest?"_

_Balian stepped over a log near the fire before he sat on it, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was thoughtful as he was silent for a moment, "Guess we won't know until you figure it out. See, each quest is different, depending on the knight. For me, it's to prove my worth…"_

"_Only because you were stupid and took Aranel for a ride in the middle of the night," Kelmeras smirked._

"_Yes, I was foolish, but I do have the chance to redeem myself. Many times, those are the purposes of the quests – simply to redeem the knight. However, there are other reasons as well."_

_Kelmeras nodded with a grunt, but didn't say anything. Balian grinned and nodded to his friend. They knew each other well enough to know when to remain silent. Balian knew that his friend was thinking and trying to find a purpose for himself in this journey. He did not want to interrupt his friend's thoughts. After they had eaten, laid out their own blankets to sleep, and sat back down by the dying fire, the young men regarded each other._

"_You know that village that we stayed in a few weeks back?" Kelmeras was the first to speak._

"_We've passed through a few," Balian answered, "Four months travel, remember?"_

"_Yeah, yeah," Kelmeras smirked, "I just can't remember the name of it… Edrahil, I think it was."_

"_Oh," Balian nodded, remembering, "Edrahil, yes. I was in training with Malicon. It is his father that lords over that area."_

"_You told me about Malicon. He sounded to be a fairly true man."_

"_Indeed," Balian nodded, "Last I knew, he was only a month from knighthood and that was before we left."_

_Kelmeras nodded and remained silent for a long while again, as his thoughts consumed him. The stillness of the air only gave way to the singing of the crickets and continuing hiss and crackle of the flames. Balian moved from where he sat to lie in his blankets, but his eyes shifted to watch Kelmeras as he continued to sit by the fire._

"_What was it about Edrahil?" Balian's voice broke the quiet of the evening once more._

"_What?" Kelmeras looked up, startled with the sudden question._

"_Edrahil," Balian repeated, "You had started to talk about staying there before…"_

_Kelmeras dipped his head as the flames reflected in his eyes, adding to the light that had appeared in those prior moments, "Do you remember the inn that we stayed at?"_

"_The Fox's Den?"_

_Kelmeras nodded again, "Do you remember the keeper's daughter?"_

"_Didn't he have two?"_

"_I thought that he only had one… the girl with the brown hair."_

"_I remember her… but I'm sure that he had another daughter as well, along with a son."_

_Again, Kelmeras nodded, "I met the son. He seemed a decent fellow… but if there was another daughter, I don't think I noticed."_

_Balian smirked, with an idea of where this conversation was going, "Do you even know her name?"_

"_Veradis…" Kelmeras grinned and Balian thought he could see the beginnings of a blush creeping up Kelmeras's neck, "She had the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. It was as if she could see right through me…"_

_Balian smiled as he listened, for Kelmeras hadn't finished, "I know it sounds foolish, for the little time we were there, but I spoke with her. She's intelligent beyond her years and in that short time of speaking with her, I felt as if we had known each other for our entire lives."_

"_She made you feel whole?"_

"_Yes…" Kelmeras looked up at Balian, confusion written on his face, "How is that possible in such a short span of time?"  
_

"_Bakura has a strange way of dealing out love," Balian answered, speaking of the goddess of love, "Are you telling me, though, that you never felt this way for Aranel?"_

"_Never this strongly."_

"_Why did you not say something? We could have tarried a bit longer."_

"_I would not hold you from your quest, Balian. I would not keep you from Aranel a day longer than necessary."_

_Again, it was Balian's turn to be silent and the night sounds closed in around them both. The crickets and the fire sang. An owl hooted in the distance and one of the horses snorted in the darkness._

"_Balian…" Kelmeras fixed his eyes on his friend, "How did you know… with Aranel? How did you know that it was love that you felt for her?"_

_Balian began to answer, but paused, giving his answer some thought, "My father once told me that love is like the most beautiful flower. Once it has touched you, it will never leave, no matter how much you will it… With Aranel? It wasn't the fact that I thought I could live with her and be happy, but the thought that I couldn't live without her and not be miserable. Aranel completes me, in every way that I never thought possible. She is the sun for my warmth – the rain to my earth – the fresh breeze on a humid day – I am unfinished without her."_

_Kelmeras's face was sober as he watched and listened to Balian talk, "I can see it. When you speak of her, I can see the love in your face and eyes."_

"_Love is special, Kelmeras. Surely you've seen it displayed between your father and mother…"_

_Kelmeras scoffed loudly, "My father doesn't know what love is. Not from what I've seen of him."_

_Balian was silent, his face full of questions, but he wasn't rude enough to ask._

"_I don't want his version of love," Kelmeras went on, "And I fear exposing any woman to his inspections. I've considered remaining chaste for such a purpose… but Veradis has made me… reconsider such a vow."_

"_Kelmeras," Balian spoke, his voice serious, "Go back."_

"_And do what?" Kelmeras challenged._

_It had been nearly two weeks since the men had discussed life and love around the campfire. Nearly two weeks of avoiding the subject. Kelmeras had always managed to steer the conversation away from the now dreaded topic. This time, however, Balian had refused to let the issue be led astray._

"_Go back to Edrahil, and take Veradis for your own."_

"_And then take her back to my father? I would not subject any woman to his approval, nor his… attentions."_

"_You would deny yourself a chance of true love? You don't have to ever return home… you've enough gold with you to buy a house that most peasants would envy."_

"_Go back… buy a house… take Veradis for my own… It all sounds so simple, but there isn't anything to say if she would even return the feelings I have for her."_

"_Love is risk, Kelmeras."_

"_I will not be humiliated!"_

_Balian turned his horse in front of Kelmeras's mount, causing the other horse to snort in protest when Kelmeras pulled her up short. Arion simply lifted his head to see what had happened before coming to a peaceful stop._

"_Humiliation!" Balian was angry now, "Is that what you think love is? To be humiliated when you confess your feelings to a woman! Let me tell you something, Kelmeras Melkor… and I will repeat myself. Love is risk. Love is also trust. Love is giving someone the ability to destroy you, and trusting that they will not… but never is love humiliating! Whoever fed you that way of belief ought to be drawn and quartered!"_

_Kelmeras sat in astonished silence, simply staring into the anger of Balian's face, but he did not see the anger there. Instead, he saw the heart of his friend and the foundation upon which Balian had built his love of Aranel._

"_Balian… I…" Kelmeras didn't know what to say, but he didn't have much of a chance before Balian wheeled his horse and rode off at a brisk canter. With bushes and trees on either side of the road, and a bend not far ahead, Balian was soon out of sight, leaving Kelmeras to think about what his friend had said._

_The scream of a horse's fear pierced the air and echoed. Kelmeras's horse startled and Arion snorted in alarm as a deep rumbling growl, followed by a snort, reached their ears. Without a moment's thought, Kelmeras kicked his horse and pulled on Arion's leadline. Within a few short moments, he had rounded the same bend in the road and had come upon a sight that his mind could not comprehend at first._

_There was blood everywhere and Balian's horse lay in ruins. Balian was on his feet, thankfully, but fending off a beast that went beyond imagination._

_It was as large as a horse and bulkier than an ox. Its head was a mix between a mastiff dog and a boar, tusks and all. Covered in a thick and wrinkled black skin, the only significant patch of hair it sported was a red line that traveled along the spine. Massive paws gave it agility, though as large as the creature was, it found it hard to match Balian's quick movements. The creature would charge, its mouth wide, attempting to sweep its lower tusks at Balian and try to bite him in the process, but with skilled footwork and the precision of wielding his blade, the most the creature ever came away with were new cuts._

_For that extended moment of eternity, Balian was poetry in motion, lost in the entrancing dance of death and life. All Kelmeras could do was watch in awe of the fluidity of Balian's movements. Again, the beast charged, and again Balian avoided the gaping maw and delivered another cut. Blood arched, following the tip of the sword. The creature squealed in anger, turning back towards its object of hate. In that moment, however, its attention was drawn by the nervous snorting of a horse._

_Balian watched that bloodied gaze shift from him to Kelmeras and the horses, and an icy chill settled in his heart. Kelmeras's mount snorted its discomfort again, only to rear up in fear as the beast began to lumber its way closer. It was wounded, but there was a hunger in its eyes. Kelmeras barely managed to stay astride, only after letting go of Arion. As his horse came back down, he struggled to keep it from bolting as he tried to pull his sword free of its scabbard._

"_NO!" Balian shouted as he pulled a dagger and threw it at the creature, embedding it in the thick skin, "You cursed piece of flesh! I'm here!"_

_The creature, driven by the pain of the dagger, whirled once again and charged towards Balian. Kelmeras shouted, but for naught. The beast was lost in its rage and Balian focused on defense. Balian stepped to the side yet again, but it was too soon and the creature shifted its path just enough to knock Balian further with the edge of its body and one massive paw._

"_Balian!" Kelmeras screamed, franticly fighting his horse to join in the fight._

_Balian fell to the ground and rolled to avoid the enormous feet of the beast, somehow managing to maintain his sword. He ended on his back, but didn't have time to scramble to his feet before the beast had landed on him, its front paws square to his chest. Balian felt something break inside of him and the edge of his vision swam red. His mind nearly gave way to darkness until the acidic smell of the creature's breath and blood reached him. He opened his eyes, his vision still edged in crimson and now black, but he could see the beast above him. Balian thought he had heard Kelmeras, but it was all Balian could do to focus on the creature._

"_You have bad breath…" he wheezed as he put what strength he had into gripping the hilt of his sword._

_The beast growled, opening its gigantic mouth as far as it would go. With a sudden and quick movement, the creature lowered its head to make the kill. However, in that same instant, Balian lifted his sword. With every last reserve of energy, strength, and will, Balian thrust his sword into the open maw of the beast, clear to the hilt. As the blade pierced the creature's brain and went further, it jerked back. The hilt left Balian's hand and his arm scraped against the bottom set of teeth, tearing flesh and muscle, but he was too weak to cry out. The beast jerked again and fell to the side, still as a stone. Balian stared up at a red sky as he felt parts of his body begin to go numb._

"_Jichola, save us," Kelmeras muttered, "We need to get you help."_

_His eyes must have closed, for when he next opened them, he was looking into the horrified face of Kelmeras. Balian shook his head, in response to his friend's words. Surely Kelmeras could see that it was too late. He couldn't feel pain anymore, and the edges of his vision had been darkened even further. The crimson had changed to burgundy, and the black wove its way across his sight now._

"_I have to Balian. You need healing… if I had been as fearless, and aided you with the creature's defeat, you might not have been injured so gravely."_

_Again, Balian slowly shook his head, and motioned for Kelmeras to bend closer. When he spoke, the distinct sound of bubbling could be heard with each breath, "Too late… and I was… afraid…"_

_It was Kelmeras's turn to shake his head, but he didn't respond to Balian's first words, "How can you fight something like that, if you're afraid?"_

"_Just because… I'm afraid…" Balian labored for each word now and blood trickled from the edge of his mouth, trailing a long scarlet line down his skin, "Doesn't mean… I can't… fight back…"_

"_Balian…" Kelmeras now fought tears, "You're so much stronger than this…"_

"_Kel…" the rest of his name was lost and Balian's eyes began to drift closed, "Go… home…"_

_Balian took one last gurgled breath before his world was consumed by the darkness and void of death._

Early in the afternoon, the trumpets had sounded and people returned to the tournament field to watch the rest of the event. Jousts had been called and victors announced throughout the rest of the day. Though, through it all, Aranel had only watched the horses, sure that they would be her only joy in the end. Now, with the sun only a few long moments from completing its journey across the sky, there were only two jousts yet to occur.

The thunder of hooves shook the earth and those slight tremors were felt by all those who were present, yet no where near the action. All eyes were on the event and with a mighty crack, lances were once again broken upon their opponent. A cheer went up from the crowd as the victor was announced once more.

With the last match only moments away, the tension of anticipation grew throughout the crowd and family. Sir Henrick von Relmag would face the Dark Wolf. The most common bet going among the people was that Sir Henrick would defeat the Dark Wolf. No one wanted to see the dark knight advance in the tournament.

"From the lands of the south," Jarvis announced the knights of the last tournament, "Traveling far and long to compete for our fair Aranel – Sir Henrick von Relmag! Knight of Valor!"

Aranel couldn't help but roll her eyes with the last of Jarvis's words. He'd called every knight a 'Knight of Valor' nearly from the beginning of the competition, though that didn't stop the crowd from cheering wildly, as they had for all of the other men before. Sir Henrick sat on his end of the field, astride a white horse that tossed and swung its head as it stood, strong and muscled. His armor, while silver, reflected the color of his standard. His banner red, it only looked to be pink in the reflection on the steel. The flag was embroidered with the emblem of a ram's head, and even Sir Henrick's helm had the ornate decorations that were suggestive of ram's horns. He would have been an impressive sight indeed, had his competition not drawn so much attention simply with his name.

"And his challenger," Jarvis's voice took on a menacing tone, "A knight of darkness and blood… of death and destruction… The dread Dark Wolf!"

The crowd reacted appropriately with boos and hisses. Some people even dared to throw their rotten and half-eaten food out onto the field. The dark knight didn't even flinch or turn to look at the crowd, though chances were if he did, they would have stopped. He sat astride the same horse as before, and it stood stone still. The blue piece of cloth that had borne his emblem of the wolf's head had been removed, leaving no indication of his symbol anywhere on him or his horse. His black armor didn't reflect any light, but didn't fail to suggest that it was undeniably polished. With no movement from horse or man, they looked as statues, erected simply to intimidate.

The flag was dropped and the horses and knights moved into action. What was stone; now fluidity. What was still; now very much living. Though the horse was fully clad in the black cloth that matched the armor of its rider, its movement could be seen and it was obvious that the horse was strong and surefooted. Flashes of black legs and a red body could be seen as the wind made itself present once more, lifting the dark blue fabric just enough for a few glimpses.

The dark knight rode his steed, but didn't seem to move as the other knights had, with the movement of the horse. The smooth progress of his mount helped to steady the knight, and his lance didn't waver in its aim, even as the knights drew nearer to each other. Then, with a mighty thrust, the dark knight drove his lance forward at the last moment. It was as if Sir Henrick, along with his horse, met a stone wall. With the blow of the Dark Wolf's lance, both horse and rider tumbled backwards and to the ground. The white horse franticly struggled to get to its feet, leaving its knight to lie on the ground, nearly lifeless.

Almost immediately, the crowd erupted in noises of condemnation. Jarvis looked to Dagon, worried. If he could not announce the Dark Wolf as the winner over the tumult of the crowd, would he be punished? In answer to his silent question, Dagon stood and moved to the edge of the dais, and raised his hands. In a matter of moments, though it might have been too long for Dagon's liking, the crowd slowly quieted down. He lowered his hands, after making a motion to Sir Henrick's attendants, allowing them to continue to aid their fallen knight.

"Would I be a fair lord of this land," Dagon's voice boomed over the crowd, commanding the attention of those who had not bothered to give it before, "If I only allowed particular knights to compete in this tournament? Would it be a fair selection if I were prejudice in who was allowed to participate?"

The crowd murmured, though some still shouted for the Dark Wolf's exclusion.

"Yes, yes!" Dagon went on, "I have heard the rumors that surround this man and his title of 'Dark Wolf,' but if he be the strongest and the smartest, then he will have Aranel's hand!"

Shouts went up from the crowd. Displeasure was evident in the villagers and Dagon raised his hands again, waiting for them to quiet once more.

"Dark Wolf has won his joust fairly," there was no room in Dagon's voice for any sort of rebuttal, leaving the crowd silent, "He will advance to the next round, as will all the other knights who won their respective jousts. You do not have to cheer for him, but I will not stand for further disgrace upon my lands. You may still come to the tournaments and receive your days of rest, and remain silent when he is upon the field, or you may go back to your pastures and furrows and continue the work for the harvest season. I will say no more on the matter."

The crowd was quiet now, and Dagon turned to the dark knight.

"You have my apologies, Sir Knight," he bowed his head slightly to the man upon the horse, "And congratulations on your victory today."

The dark knight bowed his head in return, a deep voice resonating from within the helm, "Apologies are not needed, my lord. I have heard many of the rumors myself and understand why they would fear a man such as me. Verily, I do not think many would approve of my attachment to the fair maiden."

Dagon lifted his eyes to the man, questioning, but said nothing as the knight spoke again.

"May you and yours sleep well this night, my lord," his tone was genuine and honest, "And may your house be well guarded. I would not wish your family harm."

"Thank you," Dagon said, doubt in his voice, "May you sleep protected as well, good knight, for I think that there may be those who would plot against your presence here."

The dark knight nodded once before he turned his horse and moved slowly to the edge of the field and exited.

With the day's events completed and the family dais empty, the crowd began to disperse. Some of the villagers mingled among the tents of the knights, while others were paid a coin or two to help pack those who were leaving. Not all who had been defeated were parting, but there were many who planned to.

Horses were fed and covered for the night and weapons stored away to protect them from the damp air of the evening. Men changed into more comfortable clothing and most squires rested beside their knights, their duties of the day over and done. As the shadows lengthened with the sun almost completely hidden by the horizon, some of the villagers still lingered near the competitors, anxious to hear some of the tales and stories of adventures far and wide. Some of the knights were thrilled to have an audience while others, satisfied with their deeds before the crowd that day, retired to their temporary abodes and refused to boast further.

Rivals and friends alike, when not entertaining the peasants or avoiding them completely, gathered near the fires that were lit, as the sun finally lowered itself and allowed darkness to envelop the land. More yarns were spun and the voices of men blended with the outbursts of boisterous laughter, heard throughout the camp.

The black tent of the dark knight became more isolated from the temporary structures as defeated jousters packed and headed home. He stood at the open flap of his tent and watched the informal festivities, a neutral expression to his face. Those topaz blue eyes were distant and blind – his mind was elsewhere.

"My, my," a male's voice spoke from the shadow of the dark tent, "Such a look on your face… and so distracted. It all equals an opportunity of trouble."

The knight, pulled from his thoughts, turned in the direction of the voice, "You continue to plague me Nasphai. Is there reason for this?"

"Of course there is," the voice spoke again before the smallest of sounds indicated that he was moving. The man stepped into the dim light of a nearby fire, shadows dancing on his face. Only slightly taller than the knight, he easily outweighed him. He was certainly older than the knight, evident by the few silver hairs that peppered the edges of his short dark brown hair. His blue eyes appeared to have a gray tinge to them, highlighted by his granite colored robes. He continued with a light of knowledge in his eyes, "After all, if you wish to wield the blade here, then I must have good reason to let you."

"Treachery is not enough?"

"And who has betrayed you?" Nasphai challenged, "Your friend? Lord Dagon? Aranel? Be careful of where you place blame and of what you believe or the blade may not allow you to come near."

The man sighed heavily, "My beliefs may not be correct, but I cannot help but feel betrayed by all involved."

"Yes, yes," Nasphai agreed, "There are few who would argue such a statement, but understand this – your life took a different path than you intended, simply by one choice you made. Wouldn't it be safe to assume that anyone close to you would be affected by that choice as well?"

The man didn't answer right away, as he looked out at the camp once again, "Why is it that you find need to remind me again and again?"

"Remind you of what? How noble your choice was? Remind you that you saved a life? Oh, such horrible things to be reminded of I am sure. Your mind must have been jumbled more than I believe if you doubt yourself to such an extent nowadays."

Without a word, the knight disappeared into the tent, and closed the flap behind him, leaving Nasphai to simply stare, "Do my words injure that much, Wolf?"

"No," came the muffled reply from within the tent, "I agree with your words. I simply do not wish to be seen by them yet."

"Them?" Nasphai turned to look at the camp, and a smirk crossed his lips as his eyes fell upon a group of three riders moving through the camp. Two men, and one woman. He shook his head in amazement.

The conversations slowly dwindled as Aranel passed, with Valrance and Thery. Knights lowered themselves to bow and offer their greetings to the maiden, though she didn't appear to acknowledge them in return. There was a purpose in her eyes, and she would not be swayed. A tall man, dressed in a bright blue, stepped in front of the path that she was taking, and she pulled her horse to a stop, simply staring at him and waiting to see what his purpose might be. Valrance and Thery were immediately attentive, and ready to act if this man did anything that would harm Aranel.

"Fairest maiden of the land," the tall man bowed low before he stood again, "My name is Sir Egrathil, of Libertanus."

"And what is it that you wish me to know Sir Egrathil?" Aranel's voice held the haughty tone that was distinctive to nobles and their station. While it was not her usual behavior, she would not show anything less to this man who had interrupted her objective in the camp.

"I will win this tournament for you, my lady," Sir Egrathil responded with another bow.

"Yes, of course you will," Aranel said, clearly not impressed, "As will every last one of you men who are camped here. Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters that are more pressing than listening to your claims of fame."

"It is not merely a claim to fame, my lady," the tall man insisted, a baffled look on his face from her rebuke, "I intend to win this for you."

"I have heard your intentions, Sir Egrathil," Aranel carefully kept her anger in check, "Yes, if you win, it will be for me, won't it? I am, after all, the prize, am I not? I will hear no more of what you have to declare. I have not the time for it, so if I were you, I would remove myself from where I stood, or you may not survive to compete again."

To emphasize her words, Valrance moved his horse forward, hefting his mace in a free hand. Sir Egrathil looked from Aranel to Valrance, to the crowd of knights that had come to watch the antics that he had started. With a stiff back, he bowed and removed himself from their path, and disappeared among the other competitors. Laughter trailed after him, as some rivals found the situation worthy of amusement.

Aranel looked around at the gathered men, and didn't like what she saw in many of their eyes. Power, lust, desire. She didn't like any of it.

"Well, well," the familiar voice of Kelmeras came from the collection of men, and he stepped up to where he could be seen. The golden color of his tunic highlighted the shade of his hair, and both were accented by the flames in the close proximity of the fires. He was an attractive man, in his own right. There was no doubt about that. The problem was the fact that he knew it, and flaunted it whenever he could, "The fair Aranel graces our encampment with her presence. Tis truly an honor, my lady."

Aranel's eyes shifted green, and gave the impression that they were glowing, alight in the blaze of the nearby flames. Her gaze did not move from Kelmeras, but it was cold in its appraisal of him, "You wish to humiliate yourself, Sir Kelmeras? As Sir Egrathil has before you?"

"No indeed, my lady," Kelmeras gave a slight bow, an playful smile to his lips as he spoke, "Only to give you the greetings and honors that you deserve."

Aranel narrowed her eyes, wondering what Kelmeras was up to, but tried not to linger on the thought for too long. Her gaze shifted to the others around her, "Are there any others among you who would wish to speak with me and keep me from my errand?"

There was a murmur among the standing men, and many shook their heads as they bowed before her again. She turned her eyes back to Kelmeras before she gave a curt nod, and moved off on her horse, Thery and Valrance at either side. Kelmeras merely watched them leave, a smirk still upon his face.

A few moments later, it was Nasphai's turn to bow and greet the lady and her guards, "To what do we owe the honor of your visit, my lady?" His eyes still held an amused light, but he smiled a disarming grin towards the three.

"I wish to speak with the knight, Dark Wolf," Aranel moved directly to what she wanted, not bothering to return any sort of greeting to the man in the granite colored robes.

"I am sorely afraid that he is already asleep within the tent, my lady," Nasphai answered, his expression never failing, "We traveled long and far so as to arrive on time, and I'm afraid the journey, and today's events have left him a bit… fatigued."

The first hint of disappointment crossed Aranel's features. The Dark Wolf had been the only knight that had not bothered to lift his visor after winning his joust. While this was not her reason for visiting him tonight, she would have liked to see his face and measure what character was in his eyes. However, perhaps she could still inquire after his horse.

"Are you his squire?" the look in her eyes said that she thought him too old for such a duty, "Or are you another knight… Why are you not competing?"

Nasphai gave a polite laugh, "No, my lady, I am neither. My name is Nasphai. I am merely a wizard and friend to the knight and as I said, he is sleeping. The squire-boy is tending to the horses on the other side of the tent."

Aranel nodded slightly, "Could you answer me a question concerning his horse?"

"If I am able, my lady."

"Could you tell me of his breeding? Might I look at him?"

"Ah… his breeding I may share, my lady, but it would be better to ask the knight the following question another time. He treasures his horse dearly, you see…"

"What of his breeding then? Sire? Dam?"

"His sire be a magic horse, and his dam a mere broodmare from the plains. It is all I know for certain, my lady."

"A magic horse? Is this the reason for his faultless behavior?"

"Perhaps. But it could be the fact that the knight cares for his animals with highest respect and affection."

"If your knight be willing, win or lose the tournament, I'd pay for breeding rights."

"I will convey this message to him when he wakes in the morning, my lady."

"I also seek an audience with him to further discuss his horse and its training."

Nasphai nodded again, clasping his hands in front of his stomach, bowing his head to the noblewoman, "This, also, will I pass on to the knight."

Aranel bowed her head in response to the wizard, "Thank you, Nasphai. I trust that you will express my wishes with utmost esteem and intentions. I value those that treat their animals with such tender care."

"Of course, my lady," Nasphai returned, "It will be my first duty when next I see his open eyes."

Aranel nodded and let a smile grace her lips before she encouraged her own mount to move. Nasphai waited until the three riders were well on their way to the Icthus manor before he turned and stalked to the tent, throwing back one of the flaps.

"You ignorant and arrogant fool!" Nasphai stared at the surprised face of the knight, "Yes, I am speaking of you. She wanted to speak to you about Vavra."

"And if she saw me?" the knight was sitting on the edge of his cot, a large grey wolf at his feet. The wolf lifted its head for only a brief moment as Nasphai came into the tent, before bring its head back to rest on its large front paws.

"What if she did?" Nasphai threw his hands in the air, "What are you afraid of, Wolf?"

"It is my fault that this tournament is taking place. I did not return soon enough."

"And remaining hidden is better?" Nasphai simply couldn't understand what the knight was thinking, "You will have to face her, along with the rest of them, sooner or later."

The Icthus manor was bustling with activity when Valrance and Thery walked in with Aranel. Dinner was nearly done and the dining room was in the midst of preparation for family and guest. House servants hurried back and forth between the hot kitchen and the massive dinner hall as sounds of pots and dishes echoed along the walls, mingled with the hurried rush of many footsteps on the stone and carpet.

The three young people paused to watch the commotion before Thery decided to speak, "With the effort put into this dinner and considering the house guest of this evening, I do not believe that I will be welcome at the table tonight."

Valrance frowned, "I do not approve. I do not trust our guest farther than my shadow and your presence would be a comfort."

"All the same, Valrance," Thery responded to give an answer that they all knew as truth, "My presence, or lack thereof, is to be decided by your father."

"Our father has never refused you from our table before," Aranel interjected, "Why should tonight be any different? We should all change for dinner, and behave as if nothing has changed. If our father does require that Thery not sit at the table, Valrance, then neither should we, if you are so concerned about my safety."

Valrance was quiet for a long moment, his brows furrowed with his thoughts. Finally, he nodded in agreement, "Let's change then, and make ourselves presentable. Though I will state this right away, Thery – You will sleep in my room tonight, instead of your own. As long as our guest uses one of our rooms and remains under this roof, I will take all precautions for Aranel's sake."

"Agreed," Thery nodded, "I will fetch a few things from my room and join you upstairs shortly."

The table was set and the rich smells of the food wafted through the house long before the bell rang to announce that the preparation had been completed. The Icthus family, consisting of Dagon, Finella, Oloriel, Valrance, and Aranel, all gathered around the table with their guest – Jericho Melkor. Valrance and Thery stood on either side of Aranel, but as Dagon looked around the table, they feared that he would ask Thery to leave.

"Where is my sister?" his tone betrayed his frustration, but thankfully, his words left Thery out of the equation, "Does she not know enough to come to dinner when we have guests?"

"Calm yourself, my son," Oloriel voice was relaxed and at ease, speaking simply of Eriga's habits, "You know, as well as I, that your sister has a mind of her own."

"May we at least sit?" Valrance politely spoke, "It has been a long day for all of us, Father, and mostly in the heat."

"Yes, yes," Dagon raised his hands quickly and made a flurry of gestures, "Sit. Sit. I do not want to stand in wait either."

Each person sat and adjusted themselves and their clothing, before all eyes turned to Jericho, who still stood behind his chair. Jericho's hardened gaze was fixed upon Thery and did not move until Dagon spoke.

"Come Jericho," Dagon said, "Sit. Eriga will be along shortly, I am sure."

"Dagon…" Jericho's voice matched his glare before he turned his eyes to the head of the table, "You allow dogs to dine at your table?"

"Pardon?"

"It's no wonder that your sister would refuse to dine here, with such mangy creatures allowed to sit at the very same table."

"You must excuse me, Jericho," Dagon's anger was just behind the surface though he spoke graciously and warily, "I don't quite understand what you seem to be saying."

"Oh come, Dagon," Jericho semi-mocked the other man, "I would not have considered you so dense."

"Watch your words," there was the first hint of warning in Dagon's tone, "We may have been friends since childhood, Jericho, but not even you will insult me in my own home and at my table."

"Friend?" Jericho argued further as he took a step away from the table, "You call yourself a friend, yet you would sit me at a table with one whom is lower than your own servants? That, my friend, is the insult."

"What on earth – "

"Him!" Jericho pointed a Thery with a wild motion, "You would sit me with him! Since when did the great Dagon lower himself to let a Crestline _dog_ sit at a table of nobles!"

"Jericho!" Dagon slammed his palms on the surface of the table as he stood, sending his chair backwards with a harsh groan, "You forget yourself!"

"Do I, Dagon? Or is it you that has forgotten? Your father, Kanrage, would roll in his grave to know that his son has fallen so low."

"Jericho Cornelius Melkor!" the sturdy voice of Oloriel interjected before Dagon could respond, calm but clearly angry and well controlled. The old woman was standing now, and there was a hidden light of knowledge in her eyes that spoke of her distrust of the man, "Do not presume to know things about a man that you dealt with so infrequently."

"I know enough of Kanrage's – "

"You know nothing, young man!" she cut him off before he could finish, "Nothing of his character. Nothing of his behavior nor personality. All you ever knew was that he refused your interest in Eriga, and even to this day, you do not know why."

Jericho was silent under Oloriel's words and gaze, though his own eyes spoke enough of his contempt for the woman as she continued. He wasn't the only one who was watching her however – The rest of the table was as silent as the grave, all eyes shifting back and forth between Jericho and Oloriel. None moreso than Thery, considering that he had been the start of the argument, and he partially thought about simply leaving the room, but he would dare not move while Oloriel held the floor.

"My son has welcomed you into his home – my house. He has given you a room to call your own for the duration of this tournament. Do not take these gifts so lightly, for even I can withdraw what has been given – as long as I draw breath within these walls. Now… be a polite and well behaved young man, have a seat, and enjoy the meal that has been prepared in your honor."

"My apologies, Lady Oloriel," Jericho's words were sincere, but his tone spoke of something else entirely, even as he took his seat. His eyes didn't leave the old woman for a long while, until Eriga entered the room, almost as if on cue. She was dressed in the same black dress from earlier that day and her hair was still up in that same harsh bun. The only thing that had changed was the expression on her face. She was smiling, almost joyously.

"Jericho Melkor," her voice portrayed a form of delight, "How good of you to join us this evening."

"And a pleasure to have the company of a lady, Lady Eriga," Jericho looked to her, ignoring the glare of Oloriel, after his veiled insult to the rest of the women at the table, "Come and sit. Help me to feel that not all is lost at this table."

Eriga took a long look around the table, but decided against commenting or questioning the situation, simply opting to take her seat between Oloriel and Jericho. Her dark eyes were alight with a mysterious knowledge, though none would dare ask at the table. No one wanted to know what twisted things make her smile so joyously.

"You seem pleased with yourself, Eriga," Finella was the first to break the silence after the eating had begun.

"I am always pleased when I am able to work with my craft," Eriga responded serenely, as she took a sip of her wine, "Are you not pleased when you work with your horses?"

"Of course," Finella agreed with a gracious tone, "Though I simply cannot remember the last time I have seen you so… exuberant."

"Simply…" Eriga smiled sweetly at her sister-in-law, "A more rewarding evening than anticipated."

After the dinner had been finished, and evening drinks had been ordered and passed out by the servants of the house, each person retired to a place of rest. Dagon moved to his den, with Jericho on his heels. Apparently, there were other things to discuss between them. Finella and Eriga found seats around the massive center fireplace in the main gathering area, right outside the dining room. Oloriel had taken her leave, and moved upstairs to her room, requesting that Aranel visit her sometime that night. Aranel agreed, so while Valrance and Thery sat in the small sitting room that was a part of the upstairs hallway, she went to visit the old woman.

"You wanted to see me?" Aranel spoke softly as she stepped inside Oloriel's room.

The old woman looked up from where she sat at her desk, a tired smile gracing her aged features, "Yes, my dear child. Please. Come. Have a seat. Do be comfortable."

As Aranel moved into the room, Oloriel could see the confusion on the young woman's face. _Nárelle, help me. Let Levancher give me strength. Just the thought of what is to come puts a fear in my heart._ The old woman's eyes held understanding in their depths along with relief as the presence of the goddess made herself known.

Aranel sat, almost uneasily under Oloriel's gaze, "What did you wish to speak to me, Grandmother Oloriel?"

Oloriel's smile nearly turned to tears, reminded of how respectful Aranel had always been towards her, "Oh, my dear and sweet Aranel… I'm afraid that my time is short and my desire to speak with you has been most urgent… But now, I fear what needs to be said."

The expression on Aranel's face blossomed from confusion to worry in a matter of seconds, "What is wrong!"

Oloriel quickly put a steady old hand on the young girl's arm and tried to give a comforting smile, "Oh… nothing out of the ordinary for an old woman like me. Just a part of life, dearheart."

"Grandmother," Aranel protested, her eyes fixed on the old woman's face as the color shifted between the shades of hazel and green, "If you are sick, then we should send for a physician."

"My child," Oloriel did her best to assure her granddaughter, "If I thought it would help, I would have done so a long time ago."

"I don't understand…"

"Let me tell you a story, Aranel," the old woman patted her granddaughter's arm before sitting back in her own chair, "Many, many years ago, Nárelle, the Goddess of Dreams, saw fit to visit a young woman. A new mother, to be precise. The goddess could not have children of her own, and so had decided to adopt a daughter instead. The young mother was the daughter that she'd chosen. Nárelle spent days with the young woman, learning and speaking with her. At the end of that time, Nárelle was assured of her choice and bestowed a gift to the young mother. She was given dreams that would tell her the possibilities of the future, and sometimes, though rarely, dreams that retold the past."

Oloriel paused in the story, to see if Aranel had anything to say, but the young woman seemed content to continue listening.

"Some dreams of the future came to pass," Oloriel went on, "While others did not. Some dreams were complete, while others came only in bits and pieces. For a long time, the young mother didn't fully understand what she had dreamt until she saw the events unfold later on. Nárelle paid another visit to the young mother and they spoke at length, discussing what was happening and how the gift would mature and grow. The goddess saw fit to give the young mother another gift – The Ring of Dreams. A beautiful ring, made of silver and displaying a unique, fiery black opal. It was recognized by Nárelle's clerics, for its power and authenticity. A _relic_ they called it, and tried to persuade the young mother to leave it in their care, but she could not betray the goddess in that way. The ring had been given as a way to control the dreams. The young mother could sleep, without the ring and she would not have any dreams. However, Nárelle had given a warning as well. If the young mother tried to neglect the gift, or ignore it completely, the dreams that would then come would plague not only her, but her family as well… for four generations – "

"What a horrible choice," Aranel frowned, "To use the gift or be cursed. The goddess wasn't kind to this woman."

"Shh…" Oloriel gently chided, "You must understand, dearheart. Dreams are so very important, Aranel. They are the fabric that either holds our minds intact, or tear them asunder. They are what give us strength or make us weak. The gift that was given was done so to see the young mother and her family succeed, so that at sometime in the future, the mother could pass the gift onwards."

"But she still had no choice in the matter," Aranel insisted.

"Sure she did," Oloriel smiled vaguely, "She could have refused when Nárelle first gave her the gift. Aranel… you are so fixated with choice because it has been taken from you. You must consider for a moment why that is."

Aranel fell quiet for a long time. Only the faint sound of the old woman's labored breathing seemed to fill the room. Finally, the young woman looked up at Oloriel.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, "Why are you telling me this?"

"You need to see the truth, child," Oloriel replied in a gentle authority, "And the truth is rarely pretty."

Aranel fell silent again, moving her eyes to her lap, where her hands lay with fingers intertwined. Oloriel let the stillness linger for a second time, and did nothing to interrupt her granddaughter's thoughts just yet.

"I want to give you something, Aranel," Oloriel finally spoke, pulling the young woman's attention once more. Methodically, Oloriel opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a small black box, and sat it on the desk corner nearest Aranel, "I have given this much thought and I will not be refused."

"But Grandmother – "

"No, Aranel," Oloriel's voice was firm and gave no room for argument, "You will not dispute this. Nothing you can say will sway my mind."

Aranel was quiet and did not yet touch the box. Oloriel let out a heavy sigh. She was tired. _Nárelle, help me…_

"Aranel," Oloriel's voice sounded weaker than before, "Do not disappoint me and reject this. Do not prove my choice to be foolish. I've chosen you so that another will not gain. She thinks that she will take it after I am gone, and I don't want this to fall into her hands."

The spark of curiosity lit up behind the surface of Aranel's eyes, "Who? What?"

"Open the box, child."

Oloriel watched the thoughts flit back and forth behind Aranel's eyes as the young woman slowly reached for the box. In silence, she opened the small package and withdrew what was inside. Oloriel took a deep breath at the sight of it, knowing that she would never again have the strength to wear it, nor wield it.

A square black opal, filled with the fiery colors of the rainbow, sat mounted in a thick band of silver. The silver band of the ring was engraved with the symbols of the Goddess of Dreams; a chimera and a closed eye.

Aranel looked from the ring to the old woman, disbelief written across her face, "This can't be… from the story you told? It's impossible…"

"Impossible for what, granddaughter?" Oloriel responded, still tired if not even more, "For me to have been the young mother in that story? For that ring that you hold to be the Ring of Dreams? For me to have used that precious gift to protect and strengthen my family? I don't believe it's all as impossible as you think."

"But… I…"

"No, Aranel. Do not tell me that you do not deserve or want this. The ring is already yours. You are who I am passing this gift on to."

The fireplace was blazing, sending its warmth into the room beyond the confines of the mantelpiece. The logs hissed their deaths, as the flames crackled their victory over the charcoaled wood. Thery couldn't pull his gaze from the fire for a long time, lost and consumed by thoughts of the past.

"Thery?" Valrance looked from the confines of the fireplace over to his friend and brother-in-arms, "Are you alright? Thery… Thery?"

"_Thery!"_

_He could hear her screams above the howl of the fire. The blaze rose high into the clear blue sky, sending black smoke billowing from the fiery tongues. The terrified screams of women, children, and men filled the air. Huts and cottages, consumed by the hungry inferno, were quickly reduced to ashes and embers. There was no peaceful crackle and hiss as the flames continued to spread, but the near-deafening roar of a red hot monster that knew no boundaries._

"_Thery!"_

_Pain and desperation filled her voice, but he couldn't locate her._

"_Thery! Help me!"_

_He ran through the smoke, coughing and sputtering her name. He called for her and she answered, but the confusion of the village and those still on their feet only furthered to hinder him._

"_Toccata!" his voice was hoarse from yelling and breathing smoke. His lungs burned and screamed their protest as he pushed himself farther, "Toccata!"_

_But this time, he received no answer and one of the nearby cottages collapsed…_

_Somewhere near the center of the village, he found her. She lay on the dirt, surrounded by flames, as if asleep. The edges of her clothing had been burnt and charred, along with her hair, and even some small patches of her skin._

_Thery knelt beside her and took hold of her shoulders to wake her, though deep inside, he knew that she was gone. There was a small puddle of crimson pooling and darkening the dirt, just below her neck._

_He screamed at the smoke-filled sky above. It was a sound haunted with pain and edged with despair. There on his knees, he tried to recall all of his power… his magic. He wanted to die with her there, never to wake._

_His power answered, though not in a manner that he would have expected. As he collapsed to the ground beside the lifeless body of the woman, the heavens opened up, releasing rain from clouds that had failed to be there only moments before._

_When he woke, the ground was wet and muddy. Looking around, he saw that most of the cottages and huts had been burnt to the ground, the coals still hissing against the rain soaked ground. His hair clung to his face and trailed small rivulets of mud down his skin. She still lay beside him, her clothes, hair, and skin still singed, but the blood was gone. Any trace of blood had been washed away with the downpour._

_The mud was deep now, sucking down anything that lay on the surface, and still the rain continued to fall. With so many dead, and limited to what he was capable of, Thery called the rain again. It was as if Alcare and Caradoc heard his wishes, and helped to remedy the wrong that had been done._

_As the rain fell, and the mud increased, the weight of the bodies and buildings was soon too much for the earth, and slowly began to sink. By the time that the rain had stopped, the only thing left of Crestline was the small charred sticks of buildings that had merely floated above the mud._

_There was nothing left of Crestline, save its name and Thery. Rumors spread quickly, faster than the wind itself. _'The deities had punished the Crestliners for their sins'… 'The earth had been hurt and Alcare caused the dirt to rise up and swallow the village whole.'_ Even what Thery told as truth was twisted as the gossipers saw fit. _'Their own magic had been their downfall, having grown to an uncontrollable level'… 'It was the Wild Magic that destroyed the village'… 'The deities regretted giving the magic, and withdrew it so quickly that it destroyed those who used it'… 'The remaining villagers went mad and burned the rest of Crestline to the ground'…

_Thery told the truth, when asked, leaving out only the fact that he had called the rains, but most people believed the rumors far more easily. Eventually, Thery stopped talking about what had happened, but the memories wouldn't leave as simply. His eyes became a reflection of his thoughts, often haunted by the memories._

A log slipped forward and fell, sending sparks flying outwards. The flames followed the victim, continuing to reduce the wood to ashes and smoke. Thery jumped, surprising Valrance as well. Together they let out a collective breath and relaxed back into their chairs.

"You're thinking about it again," Valrance said quietly, "Aren't you…"

Silently, Thery nodded.

"You will drive yourself to insanity with how much you blame yourself."

Thery didn't respond this time, in any manner. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Memories of failure, confusion, and loss. How many years had it been, and still he could not forget – could not forgive. He raised a hand to rub the lines that had begun to form on his forehead, his fingers moving slowly over the skin. He let out a deep breath, before a single tear dared to make its way down his face.

"Thery," Valrance's full attention was upon his friend now. His eyes were filled with concern, "Thery, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes," Thery responded gruffly, "Yes, it was. It is. I should have been there sooner. I shouldn't have left. I should have been able to stop it."

"You had no idea that Crestline was going to be attacked. No one did," Valrance knew that he was fighting a losing battle. The two comrades had discussed this many times before, and Thery's beliefs had never changed, "Even you said that the attackers were brutal and precise in what they did…"

Thery simply shook his head, as he had so many times before. He had told Valrance and the entire Icthus family what had transpired at Crestline, when he had returned. The attack had been specific and vicious. None of the villagers were left alive. No building was left standing. Thery, himself, would have been burnt alive, had the heavens not answered his call of power and released the rains.

The fire hissed and sputtered as Valrance threw a few more logs on the dying embers. Quietly, he turned to look at Thery, concern still etched on his face.

Thery offered a silent smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not many of his smiles ever did, "I'll be alright Valrance," he finally spoke after a moment, "Honest. I will."

"Are you sure?" Valrance asked as he sat back down in his chair. They were both saying and asking the same questions and words as they did each time Thery's memories surfaced.

"Yes," Thery said, his voice more quiet than usual, "And I'll be even better once your house guest has gone."

"Won't we all?" Valrance smiled slightly as he agreed, "Is that the reason for tonight's remembering?"

Thery nodded wordlessly, before he turned towards the sound of quiet footsteps coming down the hallway. Aranel had left Oloriel's room, and was now headed towards her brother and her friend. She didn't need to ask what the conversation had been about. Aranel had come to know Thery like a brother, and could read his face better than Valrance, at times.

"Again?" her voice was soft as she inquired with a single word, and she let out a small sigh as Thery nodded his head in response, "Worse than last time?"

"About the same, Aranel," Thery replied as he turned away from her, "The memories never change. They never will."

"Thery," her voice held all the concern and sisterly love that was possible. She hurt for him, and felt pain each time that the memories plagued him. There was a time when Aranel had begun to believe that her love for Thery had grown beyond that of a mere friend, but that was a long time passed, and she could only ever look at him as a brother. He was a brother to her, and someone that she would go above and beyond to help. She knelt beside his chair, and gently placed a hand on his, "You torture yourself too much with blame, just as I do with this tournament. Is it not my fault that it is happening? Is it not my fault that I did not choose any of the suitors that came to seek my hand?"

Thery turned to look at the young woman, confusion in his eyes, "Even I could not force myself to choose another after Toccata died… How could you choose another after losing Balian?"

"If we are passing blame, dear Thery," Aranel's expression was soft and her eyes sad, as the slightest of smiles began to grace her lips, "Then it is my fault that I lost Balian. It was my foolishness to persuade him for a ride that night. My thoughtlessness brought him lower in my father's eyes, so that he had to redeem himself by a quest."

"Aranel," Thery was fully bewildered now, and it shown in his features, "You cannot blame yourself in that…"

"Then I will not," Aranel squeezed Thery's hand gently, as she smiled with that hint of intelligence behind her eyes, "If you do not blame yourself for what you could not predict nor control."

Thery's mouth opened and shut a few times before he finally kept it closed. He stared at Aranel for an extended moment as her words criss-crossed his mind and an understanding finally set in. With a soft chuckle, Thery closed his eyes and shook his head. When he finally opened his eyes to look at her again, his eyes still maintained that haunted look, but there was something else there – a freedom.

"Thank you, Aranel," he said as he leaned forward to place a gentle and chaste kiss on her cheek, "Thank you."


End file.
